


Back Against the Wall

by Winterswild



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Hermaphrodite Piccolo (Dragon Ball), M/M, Sex, Slow Burn, Swearing, Time Travel, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterswild/pseuds/Winterswild
Summary: The future is a cold, dark place when Piccolo wakes up to find that the Androids have destroyed everything and very nearly killed everyone. This world needs him like no other. Gohan needs him. With Seventeen & Eighteen too. Piccolo/Mirai Gohan.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Original Male Character(s), Piccolo/Future Son Gohan, Piccolo/Son Gohan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 34





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Dragonball Z

**Chapter One**

**Arrival**

  
  


A heavy ache throbbed its way into his awareness as he regained consciousness. immeasurable time stumbled by, and he felt the numb give way, slowly, to an ever increasing pain. Dark eyes struggled as they opened, blinking in barely contained agony whilst a shaky breath left his cracked lips. He could hear himself groan, a weak, faint sound and his lungs burned with it. Bleary, soaked eyes tried to see but the stillness wouldn’t leave him. Nothing would move, and he vaguely felt a repulsive panic begin to make itself known. Swallowing the bile rising in protest, he tried to focus. Just an inch from his blood shot eyes he could see wet grass blades wavering. He was aware then that it was raining, and he was soaking. It was coming down so hard that he wondered, hoped even, that he might be under his waterfall. He kept trying to blink it out of his eyes from where he lay in the dirt, one cheek pressed firmly into the wet soil. A puddle was gaining altitude beneath him. He continued to blink, he couldn’t hear a waterfall.

One green hand lay, taunting, in front of his face and he willed it to move. His hand rotated, and remained lying weighty in the dirt, his fingers wriggled pathetically. The weakness was unbearable. As the minutes rolled by, Piccolo felt something burning in his chest. Fear, maybe, or pain. He still couldn’t move. The heat burned him and yet he knew he was numb from the cold, long since drenched, frozen in the mud.  _ How long have I been here?  _

It was dark, he could see the moonlight glittering in the rain drops sitting on the grass blades in his vision. Dark shadows of trees, he hoped, moved gracefully in the distance ahead. His injured mind went to images of ghosts and ghouls but he couldn’t fathom why. He had been training in the late morning, he could remember that much. He had felt hot, overworked and figured that it was a result of over-doing it using his duplicate forms. Then the pain had hit, a tearing sensation deep in his stomach and chest, or maybe his back, he didn’t know.  _ Have I been lying here since then? _

He almost didn’t care. His eyes closed slowly and he distantly registered that he couldn’t feel his body again. Time passed. In his burgeoning delirium he idly wondered if he had died there, in the dirt, and perhaps the universe had forgotten to take his spirit. Like an old Earth tale, stuck in the world in mind only. His eyes drifted closed. A wax doll.

Sound, a lot like a beating drum underwater, flickered across Piccolo’s senses and he reluctantly, slowly, opened his eyes again. He didn’t know how long he’d been out this time. It was still dark, and though the rain had stopped the ground was swampy. That sound again. The water drum. He realised then, belatedly, that there was a boot in his vision. His mind was all over the place.  _ How did a boot get here? _

Gohan looked down with bold, dark eyes. He stood so still, staring with shock, confusion and suspicion. He pushed the happiness down, the foolish, desperate hope that this really was Piccolo. His dear friend, here and alive and lying face down in the dirt. Scuffed orange gi pants bristled in the breeze as it picked up but he continued to stand there. His dark hair was dripping in his eyes but he didn’t care. 

“Piccolo?”

There was no response. Gohan loosened his grip on the weapon in his hand, the one he had wielded expecting to see someone else. His heartbeat was still thudding and he felt the pain of holding too hard in his fingertips when he put the taser back in his belt. Somewhere in the distance, a fork of lightning struck and a long, low grumble echoed in the air. It stirred Gohan into action. He knelt down, sinking into the damp soil and took a closer look. This wasn’t just any Namek, this was definitely Piccolo. The purple gi was in tatters, soaking and his skin was streaked with violet blood. Concern then clawed its way to the front of Gohan’s awareness and he gingerly picked up his old friend. The shock and disbelief was ebbing, and now all he felt was a very strong urge to protect. His hands touched Piccolo’s arms and he was so cold to the touch that the demi-Saiyan almost dropped him. Images then, of the Androids digging his friend out of the ground to taunt him flashed across his mind and he had to school himself.  _ That doesn’t even make sense. _ He could hear his friend breathing, albeit faint. He didn’t feel as heavy as Gohan had expected, he laughed to himself. _ Maybe I’m just incredibly strong. _

He took flight, holding his cargo close, and he navigated the most covert route he could remember. Broken cities lay below him, stone strewn everywhere in darkness and he could sense a few souls seeking refuge underneath them. He ignored them easily. Compassion had no business in his life anymore. He arrived home, or what he considered to be home now, just as the rain picked up again. Once inside, the electric light was a little confronting but he now looked down at the man in his arms. His white fangs lay in a partially open mouth, looking about as dangerous to him as a grass snake. Ignoring the violet blood dried and now flaking, he could see him, so close and so alive. His heart began to constrict painfully in an intense feeling of happiness. It felt so foreign.

He stood in the entrance of the building, which also served as a kitchen. An old oak table that could seat four to his left, in front of an old pine dresser, a sink and some surface area. Old pottery with pictures of woodland animals lay on the dresser, and he idly wondered who had bought it, smiling at the memory of simpler times. The house was nothing spectacular, but it sufficed. Rain water dripped onto the white tiles beneath his boots but he didn’t move. His brown eyes were entranced and they were soon joined by another pair of wide, shocked bright cerulean ones. Bulma’s mouth was agape, and she glanced up at Gohan who was just standing there, wet in his orange gi, blue undershirt stuck to his skin. He looked at her then, a life in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since back when -

“He’s hurt. Come on”

His voice was hopeful as he walked forward, back in action.

Bulma followed as he went down the hallway and into a sparse single bedroom, with an unused bed. He placed Piccolo down, far more carefully than was really necessary for the battle hardened Namek but Gohan wasn’t about to take any chances. He looked like he had been inside the almighty storm that he had apparently brought with him. Bulma checked his vitals first and shifted Gohan out of the way, with a strength that could only come from a lifetime of being in charge. The demi-Saiyan watched, transfixed, and he noticed that Bulma’s sweats had oil stains on them.  _ Probably engineering all day. Some new phase weapon hopefully, or maybe a bomb that only blows up Androids. _ He thought fondly of her working though she didn’t have the success she was used to; failure has a way of eating your motivation.

“Well, I think he’s okay but his heartbeat is slow and his breathing doesn’t sound too good. I don’t think he’s getting enough oxygen into his lungs”

Gohan’s chest squirmed as she continued.

“I’ll get some oxygen and a heart monitor. I’ve only got basic stuff but he’s strong, he’ll be fine. Namek’s heal quick”

She added the last bit for his comfort, and he knew it. He tried to smile, but it just wasn’t the heartfelt smile he had once been the proud owner of.

“Okay, thanks Bulma”

“Sure thing, sunshine...I just...I can’t believe it’s really him”

Gohan paused before responding, moving out of the way of the wooden door to let her through.

“I know”

She returned a few minutes later pulling some apparatus in behind her. The setup was done in a relatively short time and she placed the oxygen mask over Piccolo’s face, awkwardly trying to make a shape designed for a human seal against the Namek’s bone structure. Sticking a grey monitor on his long finger, the steady beep of a slow heart rate then started and kept going. The equipment looked a little odd in the small room. He drew hideous paisley curtains and watched the dust puff up and slowly settle. Everything was so run down now, he had forgotten that it wasn’t normal. He sat down in an old armchair that had been put in here because it was offensive to Bulma’s eyes. His gi felt heavy and soaked but he ignored it. Piccolo lay still with the mask over his face, looking so unlike the mentor he had grown up with. Bulma had finished fiddling with the settings on the monitor and then exhaled a breath she’d been holding. Blue hair was falling out of her roughly pulled back ponytail and Gohan could see more wrinkles starting to show in the overhead light. It gave her face endless character, and she wasn’t lacking any before.

“Right, all set up. You’ll have to get him out of those wet clothes and under some blankets too, then get yourself to bed. You both need rest”

Her motherly tone always amused him. His heart banged for his own. He nodded and waited for her to leave before carefully removing Piccolo’s clothes. Gohan felt a strange nervousness at first. He had seen Piccolo undress before, sure, but he hadn’t ever taken the clothes off an unconscious man before. He realised that it didn’t phase him as much as it might have before all this happened. That naivety he once had was only an echo now. He averted his eyes when necessary but took a moment to let his fingers move along the grooves on the jade skin of his stomach, tracing the dark pink line around the natural body armour of his abdominal muscles. His hands told him how real this all was, how his mentor’s skin felt strangely soft and was warming up, and he could feel his stomach move up and down as he breathed. Gohan closed his eyes against the feeling and placed his palm flat against Piccolo’s chest. There, underneath his hand, Piccolo’s heart beat. 

\-------

Piccolo awoke to the sound of strange electrical noises, rumbling and the sensation of something digging unpleasantly into his cheeks. He opened heavy eyes and expected to see wet grass but instead, frowned. _ What? _

The ceiling above him, magnolia, and a crack was beginning to show itself. He tried to look down, though it took a little effort. He was covered in some soft materials and he realised that he was warm. Comfortable even. It was a bed and he noticed to his chagrin that he was too big for it, his broad shoulders just about fit but his feet dangled off the edge of the mattress. He brought a hand up to remove the irritating thing that was on his face but as he did, he froze. To his left, a man sat in a chair that was too small for his bulky frame, head thrown back and snoring intermittently. The vivid orange gi was unmistakable and his first thought was Goku. The chi told him differently, but he tried to ignore it. A scar ran up the left side of the man’s face but he could plainly see a face he recognised. He knew it like he knew his own.

Onyx eyes widened in disbelief, his hand still gripping the plastic covering his mouth and nose. His mind started to whir.  _ Is that...No. Gohan’s only seven years old. Another Saiyan then? God, they’re everywhere. _

He removed the plastic thing, immediately frustrated that it came attached to a band wrapped around his head. Cold air rushed into his lungs and his eyes widened again when he started to cough. Every cough was accompanied by a piercing pain in his chest and he cursed at himself for it. He realised that the man had woken and was now quickly standing up. Even through the wracking in his lungs he could plainly see Gohan’s face and the unmistakable large brown eyes. His voice only confirmed it. 

_ “ _ You need to put the breathing mask back on”

Gohan pushed the mask back over his mouth and nose despite Piccolo’s protests. He looked down with tired, kind eyes. Piccolo’s shock was the only reason he didn’t scowl.  _ Don’t say it. _

“Gohan?”

The demi Saiyan smiled then, and Piccolo noticed that it looked a little unpracticed. Not the all encompassing smile he was used to seeing. 

“I’m here, do you remember what happened? I thought...you died. I mean you did die. How did you come back?”

Piccolo felt like every question asked a thousand more and the constant feeling of confusion was now giving him a more familiar feeling; anger. He sat up this time, waving Gohan away, and removed the mask. He was careful to breathe slowly this time.

“Stop it, I’m not some frail human that needs looking after”

Gohan crossed his arms then, and in the light Piccolo could see the scar on his face etched clearly.

“What do you mean I’m dead? Where am I?”  _ And who are you, really? _

Hesitation made Gohan pause and he uncrossed his arms again, placing one of his hands on Piccolo’s arm. The Namek looked down at it and it’s audacity. 

“Don’t you remember?”

Piccolo snarled a little then. He couldn’t help it, the situation was too ridiculous.

“Clearly not”

“The androids...they killed you and well...everyone”

Piccolo balked at that. _ Androids? Everyone? What do you mean? Have I really been dead so long that you’re what? Twenty years older? _

“Everyone is dead?”

Gohan’s eyes softened then, in muted sympathy. He watched Piccolo’s features fall and he thought then, that he looked younger than he remembered. 

“I don’t even know what an android is. The last thing I remember was training and then I woke up. I was lying in the dirt...is that where you found me?”

Gohan nodded but the Namek continued, his tone a little subdued.

“But the last time I remember you, you were...seven years old”

Dark brown eyes widened at that and Piccolo watched his reaction. His student had grown so much, physically, but there was an awareness in his eyes that was well worn with something Piccolo knew only too well; misery. There was a lifetime sitting in those big orbs. He felt confronted by it, by its maturity and something else. As he looked up at Gohan’s serious face, he felt something weighty in his own chest. He recognised it immediately; sadness. The Gohan he knew has been so full of life.

“How can that be?”

“I don’t know but...I don’t remember dying, or any  _ androids _ ”

Gohan was thinking then, suddenly focused and whimsical as he raised a hand to his chin. Arms clenched and the muscle there twitched in barely hidden frustration. Piccolo could see the strength there, swimming beneath the skin, and pride welled within him.  _ You’ve become quite the warrior Gohan. _

_ If that’s who you really are. _

Piccolo made a move to get up but stopped as the blanket fell down his chest. A faint but ever deepening purple then began to appear on his cheek bones and at the tips of his ears. Gohan noticed and raised an eyebrow. The Namek explained, his tone filled with irritation and most probably, exhaustion.

“I’m naked”

“Oh right! I’ll...see if I can grab something to fit you”

Piccolo opened his mouth to object before realising that he didn’t have the energy to materialise any clothes. He closed it again and Gohan quickly left the room. Piccolo removed sticky pads attached to wires, and other things he couldn’t distinguish whilst he waited and alarms began to sound. Bulma came rushing in, her blue locks in disarray and wearing a quickly put on shorts and a red t-shirt that read “Takes one to know one”. She came to a stop when she saw that Piccolo was awake with hands clamped over his ears.

“Oh! Haven’t you healed quickly! Best take it easy though”

She smiled and silenced the heart rate and oxygen alarms.

“It’s so good to see you”

The smile was so genuine and Piccolo even started to believe then that he must still be dead and this was just another type of hell. She placed a hand on his arm and he moved it out of her grasp. He remained silent and she hesitated before Gohan came in behind her. 

“Oh Bulma! Sorry, I should have disconnected the monitor when he woke up”

She laughed a little.

“No it’s fine, Trunks didn’t even wake up. Superior senses my ass”

Gohan laughed a little too. Piccolo just watched, feeling more and more like this didn’t make sense.  _ Who on earth is Trunks? Oh, probably her human mate. _

“Nothing wakes that kid. Well, you’ll be pleased to know that our guest looks a lot better this morning”

“I told ya!” she winked.

He put his hand behind his head then, in true Son fashion. 

“Yeah, only, he seems to have lost his memory...he doesn’t remember dying, the androids, or...anything actually, not since I was seven”

Bulma’s features faltered then. She looked at Piccolo with the look that a scientist gives an experiment that they’re about to start and he scowled. She moved closer and his skin began to crawl at the proximity. The faint smell of floral soap graced his senses.

“You know, I did notice something on the scans I took. I didn’t take any notice, it was so late and I just thought it was an anomaly but…”

She dug around in the tray of medical supplies and pulled out the handheld device, switched it on and scanned him. A few beeps sounded and Piccolo felt the noise dig into his skull. She showed it to Gohan.

“See here, this just..should be showing a different reading. I designed it back when the Nameks stayed at Capsule corp. According to this, he’s only about a decade old, albeit an adult for the most part. And...I checked my monitoring equipment for any android activity last night. To pick up any electrical energy and…”

She pulled out a piece of paper with a printout and showed it to Gohan, who was still on the ‘decade old’ comment, only loosely following Bulma’s excited rambling.

“Look at this spike in energy, and the type of radiation!” 

Gohan opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“I mean look at him, doesn’t he look...young to you?”

Gohan looked at Piccolo then, sitting with a contemptuous frown on his features. He was rapidly becoming irritated with being the subject of discussion, a discussion he didn’t understand.

“Now you mention it, I suppose he does look kind of young. But Namek’s always look young, they live for a long time Bulma”

“I know that! But what i’m saying is...I don’t think this is  _ our _ Piccolo”

Gohan crossed his arms again. Piccolo noticed it.  _ Did he get that from me? _

Piccolo’s gravelly tones made them both turn towards him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re the same Piccolo that died here. I think you’re from another time, or reality”

She said it with such conviction that Gohan wondered how she could come to such a ridiculous conclusion. 

“How could that even happen?”

She prodded him in the chest.

“I recognise these readings because i’m working on something myself, a little temporal experiment”

Piccolo tried to digest the information but he couldn’t reconcile it in his head. Piccolo vaguely recalled some Earth stories of time travel and stated, bluntly.

“I don’t exactly recall getting in a time machine”

Gohan’s eyes were serious again and Piccolo felt that distant pang as he spoke.

“Well, wherever you’re from...the Androids have nearly destroyed this world and killed everyone in it. I hope you are from another time so that you don’t have to stay here at least”

Bulma looked down, biting her lip with a forlorn look in her eyes. Gohan said it with such disregard, so matter of fact. He placed some clothes on the armchair beside Piccolo’s bed and ushered Bulma out of the room, leaving a stunned Piccolo still sitting up in bed. Minutes passed and he didn’t move. He wondered if this was just a very long nightmare, or maybe he’d suffered a head injury.  _ Either that, or I really did die, and this is some kind of peculiar purgatory. _

  
  


**W.**


	2. Blue Jeans

Piccolo had fallen back asleep neither meaning to or wanting to, and had to face the same confusing reality routine when he woke up again. Groaning and blinking sleep from his eyes, he sat up in the small bed, feeling a relentless all over body itch. He wondered if it was the blanket, or the permeating dust or maybe just that the constant irritation had finally manifested itself in physical form. He frowned as he heard small footsteps rapidly thudding through the hallway and towards his room. A second later, a mass of lilac hair was in his face, even in his mouth, as a little boy bundled on top of him. 

“You’re alive!”

Piccolo’s dark eyes went wide and he shoved a hand in the boy’s chest to keep him away. He looked to be about Gohan’s age, _ his _ Gohan, though maybe a little older. He really had no idea how to gauge a child’s age. Bright blue eyes shone with happiness as he beamed up at the confused Namek. This boy clearly knew him and Piccolo felt an unfamiliar and unwelcome pang of guilt at it; he blamed Gohan for that. He narrowed his eyes, the boy’s chi was unusually strong for a human, of any age. 

“Trunks!” Bulma’s piercing voice echoed through the hall as she came hunting for him. Piccolo saw the look of disproportionate horror in the little boy’s eyes as he scrambled down onto the floor and Piccolo heard him curse. “Oh shit!” It made the Namek chuckle. He was certain such language was going to get the gutsy little thing into trouble. Bulma marched in, face scrunched up in mock anger and immediately started to chastise the youngster.

“You know you’re not supposed to be in here! Piccolo needs to rest!” 

Trunks had the decency to look sheepish and observed the floor with reddening cheeks. The Namek assumed that this child belonged to Bulma, or perhaps a child they had found and taken in.  _ Sentimental humans.  _ She ushered Trunks out, muttering a quiet sorry towards Piccolo, and closed the door behind her. His long ears could hear her continue to chastise him whilst he repeatedly said sorry and he wondered if all human mothers were the same. Though he had only really come across two so far. He swung his legs over the bed, noticing that even though he was feeling better there was some odd bruising on his stomach and chest. The floor felt strange as he pushed his feet flat, unsteady at first, and he looked down. There was some kind of fabric grass like looking material covering the floor, only it was grey _. Carpet, _ his mind advised somewhere from its recesses, and he scowled wondering if it had come from Nail. 

The clothes Gohan had left made him frown in a comical way as he fingered the material, it was a little rough to the touch. There was little movement in them as he slid the pale blue jeans up his legs. They more or less fit though they were a touch short, and far too close fitting. He thought it bizarre since Gohan’s clothes wouldn’t fit at all and he idly wondered if their previous owners were dead. He struggled with the button, his talons making it impossible to push the button through the hole which he figured it was meant to go through. He couldn’t do it.  _ Fiddly bullshit humans. _

“For fuck’s sake”

Someone knocked on the door, making Piccolo jump and then sigh in agitation. He could sense Gohan behind the wood. He looked at the door. A few seconds went by before he realised that the half saiyan was likely waiting for a response.

“Uh...Come in”

Gohan offered a half smile at the Namek as he entered and did that embarrassed laugh-cough before closing the door behind him, realising that Piccolo was only half dressed.

“Oh sorry um…”

He watched as Piccolo continued to fiddle with the button and it dawned on Gohan then that the Namek had probably never worn anything but his gi before. He went over, standing in front of the taller man and moved Piccolo’s hands away like a couple of gnats and easily pushed the button through the hole. He then looked at the flustered Namek as he pulled the zip up, making Piccolo jerk back and fluster. Gohan was completely unfazed, which made his companion look all the more reactive. 

“They’re not a bad fit”

Piccolo wondered if anything really bothered this version of his student,  _ has this life jaded you Gohan? _

He responded quickly, trying to distract himself from his own embarrassment. 

“Yeah, I was surprised. I haven’t seen many seven foot humans”

Gohan laughed a little, but it was humorless. 

“Actually, you’re not quite seven feet. And they were Tien’s”

That pang of guilt returned. 

“Oh”

“It’s okay, i’m sure the dead don’t mind”

Piccolo picked up the other garments and slid the white t-shirt over his head. It was ridiculously tight and Gohan tried poorly to hide his smirk. The Namek quickly put on the wool jumper over the top, and to his relief, it hung loose.

“Tien’s as well?”

“Oh...no. It was my dad’s, but it didn’t fit him...too big”

It made Piccolo want to shrink inside the woollen material, like the living mockery he was. 

“Comfortable?”

“It’s fine”

Gohan smirked, knowing full well that his mentor felt anything but. Piccolo looked down at his bare feet and realised that underneath the chair, Gohan had left some shoes, and some of those soft foot coverings he’d seen the humans wear. For some reason he wasn’t sure about the shoes, or trainers, or whatever they were.  _ Surely my stuff must be dry? _

He must have been sporting a disconcerted look because Gohan seemed to read his mind. 

“Bulma’s running tests on your things, to see if she can figure out how you got here”

Piccolo growled a little, leaning down to put on the strange footwear. Gohan opened the door and beckoned the Namek to follow. As the half Saiyan walked, he heard Piccolo grumble something about human tastes and he smiled. How he had missed the surly Namek’s grumbling, the perpetual impatience, the softer centre. He would have given him a gi if he had any in decent condition with even a small chance of fitting. His friend shuffled quietly behind him and he wondered if the footwear didn’t quite fit, in fact, it probably didn’t. He had no idea what shoe size Piccolo was and he was sure as hell Piccolo didn’t either. He led them both into the kitchen and gestured for him to sit down on one of the wooden chairs. Piccolo just looked at it like a dog might look at the vet’s doorway. Gohan grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and turned to realise that his friend was still standing there. Of course, he’d forgotten how unsocialised the Namek had been.  _ Has it really been more than 10 years? _

Piccolo uncrossed his arms and accepted the bottle. Fatigue thrummed through his muscles as he did and took the proffered seat, sitting down gingerly. The chair wasn’t really designed to support someone his height and he had to stretch his legs out and kind of shuffle forward and lean back at the same time. It was awkward. In fact, he had felt awkward, frustrated and little else since he had arrived. Maybe that was just how it is here. Gohan sat down himself with a beer and Piccolo only knew it was beer from the piercing smell, the bottle was unmarked. Gohan took a long swig before placing it down and licking his lips with a grimace.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, all things considered”

He tapped the water bottle, emerald fingertips getting damp from the condensation. For some reason it felt unusually cold. He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and put the bottle on the table to stop from fiddling with it.

“Tell me about the androids. Are they aliens to this planet?”

It was the other man’s turn to clear his throat and he took another sip of his beer. Piccolo noted that he wasn’t wearing his gi now, but a ruffled khaki green shirt and stone coloured trousers. To look covert, perhaps,  _ like the Earth military,  _ his mind flashed with images of soldiers, tired with war. Gohan had dirt on his face.

“There’s not much to say, we haven’t really discovered that much about them. They are artificial beings. There’s two, brother and sister we think. They appeared over ten years ago now. My dad...he was already dying from a heart virus when they arrived. They took us out pretty quickly, it was more of a slaughter than a fight”

He noticed Piccolo’s fallen expression, discrete though it was.

“I mean, they all went out fighting. You...went out fighting. We just weren’t a match for them. Soon it was just Bulma, Trunks and myself and we hid. We were the only Z fighters, and anyone else who’d made it were relying on us to survive”

Gohan swallowed an unconscious lump and rubbed his head through his short hair. 

“I mean, it quickly became apparent that we weren’t going to win with brawn. We needed to think our way out of this, or at least that seemed like a good idea at the time. That was then, and now here we are still hiding and we haven’t thought of a way out”

His wry laugh made Piccolo’s chest tight. He thought of the little Gohan he knew and the man that was sitting here now. The man with a scar on his very adult, very serious face.

“Not for lack of trying, Bulma has done nothing but research since, and Trunks and I have looked everywhere for information or resources. It’s just, we’re always one step behind, and we’ve not caught up once”

It looked to Piccolo that Gohan had already been out that morning, searching for whatever it is they’re looking for. Piccolo didn’t want any more water, his stomach felt strangely empty but he didn’t want to fill it. He looked from the worn table top back at to the other man. 

“I must be here for a reason, maybe it’s to help you in some way”

Gohan smiled at that, not voicing his thoughts. _ I hope so, but your power level isn’t telling me anything I want to hear.  _ He knew it would offend the sensitive Namek. Piccolo was also not voicing the words running through his own head, thoughts of this being a random accident, thoughts of being no help at all. Gohan gestured to the neglected bottle of water on the table with a rough hand. 

“I wouldn’t let that go to waste, fresh water isn’t so easy to come by.” He gestured to his beer.

Piccolo acknowledged the comment with a grunt and a belated feeling of...he didn’t know the name of it. Pity, maybe. Like this situation didn’t apply to him.

“So what do we do now?”

He was ready to fight, geared for action. He grinned, Gohan hadn’t come across enthusiasm to fight the androids in...well, since before Vegeta died. It was sweet really, how naively Piccolo would rush into his own demise, again. He wasn’t about to lose Piccolo a second time, not to the same evil, and he shook his head.

“Nothing, yet. We’ll wait to see what Bulma comes up with”

With that, Piccolo stood up and sighed in relief to be out of the cramped position. Gohan joined him and he could now see how tall the boy had grown. Taller than Goku, he noted. 

“I’ll go train then”

Piccolo walked towards the door, wondering how he was going to train in this ridiculously restrictive outfit. He tried not to think of how tired he felt, an ugly, gnawing fatigue deep in his bones. 

“You can’t leave. Sorry, but there’s a shield around the building to keep us hidden and...well, it’s too dangerous. The androids are close.”

He frowned at Gohan’s statement, the smaller man had already left that morning, clearly. What was so different now? He could keep his chi down. Gohan’s wide brown eyes were not budging.

“I’ll meditate then and keep my energy level low”

Gohan shook his head, and his tone started to slip into something a bit more impatient.

“And go where? You’ll be exposed out there. There’s nothing but a broken city for miles, and you can’t go much further than that without the risk of being discovered”

Piccolo crossed his arms. Gohan was being unreasonable, he could look after himself. At those chestnut eyes though, he relented, if only because he didn’t want the other man to blow a fuse for no reason.

“Fine. I’ll stay here”

The moment he said it the regret was immediate. The four walls loomed and he looked back at the hallway, deciding reluctantly, to return to the small room he had been given in order to meditate. He left the water on the table.

Gohan watched him leave with sad eyes. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice and although he knew Piccolo wasn’t exactly easily frightened, he was easily offended. There was something about the Namek that he couldn’t put his finger on, a difference. His memory of Piccolo was vague these days, he of course treasured the memories of them training in the wilderness, going to Namek and bringing Piccolo back to life. Soon after is where it ended though, when his dad got sick and the androids arrived. Visions of his dad writhing and screaming in bed as the virus finally overwhelmed him flitted through his mind and he pushed them to one side. His mother had tried to stay strong, but her determined dark eyes became more and more hollow as they were picked off one by one, the same look he saw in Bulma’s eyes when she realised she was one of the only ones left. His mother had around the same time.

And Piccolo died too. All of his friends had died, all people he loved dearly. 

He realised then; what he couldn’t put his finger on. It wasn’t that Piccolo was actually much different, he remembered that he was gruff, difficult and unreasonable but in Gohan’s mind he had been a hero _ , his _ hero. And of course he still thought those things but now he had the advantage of adult eyes, and lifetimes of hard experience. As a child he had been so in awe of the great green giant, he had accepted Piccolo just the way he was, flaws and all, like children do. Now he could clearly see how unsocialised and difficult Piccolo was, naive, arrogant and struggling with emotion. He was a young man, biologically equivalent to something like twenty years old, Bulma had said, albeit one that ‘didn’t go to school or have any manners’. Gohan was nearly thirty years old now, and losing everyone and everything had made him feel a hundred. And now, here, was this surly Namekian who had so little life experience compared. The realisation actually made him laugh, before it made him feel weird.

Piccolo had tried to meditate sitting on the bed for a few hours, not having the energy to hover as normal. The effects of time travel, he supposed. It had taken a while to settle into a meditative state, there were no birds chirping, no waterfall crashing and no breeze rustling his cape. His ears had instead honed in on what he presumed were the machines running the building’s power, and the shield Gohan had mentioned. And the fridge, in the kitchen. Those things always made that noise and he hated it. Truly loathed it. His ears flickered as someone entered the room and he opened his eyes. 

Gohan had left Piccolo alone to digest this new situation, but eventually, he had wanted to see him again. Having the other man’s company here was too tempting to ignore. Bulma was mostly always working and Trunks was just a kid, a smart, fabulous young man but a kid nonetheless. He walked straight into Piccolo’s room since the door had been left open and the Namek was sat on the bed with legs crossed, jeans probably pulled too tight for comfort. The jumper suited him at least, though he was certain the other man would claim otherwise. He opened his eyes and looked at Gohan expectantly. Gohan then realised, belatedly, that he had absolutely no real reason to be there. 

“Uh...I thought you might like some company”

Piccolo frowned, not really understanding how Gohan had come to that conclusion. It sounded like some human garbage. It took him a long moment to realise that it was Gohan who probably needed the company. He sighed and gestured to the chair. The half Saiyan gladly sat down, though he was too muscled to fit in its seat properly, Saiyans were just built to be bulky. Piccolo was somewhat glad for the interruption. His thoughts had been a jumbled mess, he didn’t know how he was here, why or if it was even possible to return. He didn’t know this world, he was trying to be patient but the information he had so far seemed inherently vague. This was Earth, the androids had killed everyone, the end. He felt helpless and unsure. These weren’t feelings he enjoyed, it was like he had just hatched all over again. Maybe Gohan would tell him something useful this time. He searched his mind for a human phrase to start the conversation.

“What’s...on your mind?”

Gohan sighed at the question.

“So many things. At the moment i’m wondering how long we can stay here. Trunks has made some human friends for once, they’re at class now. There’s only five kids in this area but one of the parents used to be a high school teacher. Can you believe it’s the first time he’s been to school? I mean, I know I didn’t but by his age…ya know?”

Piccolo instantly regretted asking as he struggled to form a response. He had never really regarded school as something important. Trunks having friends though, that did sound important, the little boy had likely had an incredibly unpleasant life so far. He sensed the young teenager elsewhere in the house and the Chi felt familiar, like the smell of roses in the rain, it reminded him of Gohan. He idly wondered if he might be Gohan’s son.

“Hm...” he had no idea how to continue that sentence so he just ignored it entirely. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh about three years now, which is pretty good going”

Piccolo nodded. He noticed again how dusty everything was. 

“So how do you train?”

There it is. Gohan knew it would only be a matter of time before the subject of fighting came back up. He was almost glad, so much like old times.

“We usually get our fill fighting the androids, that or if they’re far enough out, which isn’t that often, we go the other way. We probably only train two or three times a week.”  _ Not all day, every day like you, you martial arts obsessed oddball.  _ Gohan thought fondly.

Piccolo wondered what he was going to do if training was a limited option. Not for the first time that day, Gohan seemed to see where his thoughts were going. Piccolo frowned, this sense the half Saiyan seemed to have was starting to become bothersome, more than it should have. 

“We tend to research instead, through the media or old science journals, testing debris, designing new weapons. That and Trunks keeps us pretty busy”

Piccolo wasn’t sure how he was going to fit into this scenario. 

“As for other things, well we read a lot. Trunks likes his movies...and we spend time together, we don’t know how long we’ve got, but for the moment we’ve got each other”

That was bittersweet. Gohan smiled, knowing Piccolo wouldn’t know what to say. Comfort had not been the man’s strong point, however, he was taken by surprise.

“No one knows when their time is up, at least you have a reason to make the most of it. Most people don’t bother”

Piccolo offered a faint warmth in his eyes as he said it.

Gohan had forgotten how wise Piccolo could be,  _ maybe that’s why he was here, to be the voice of reason where there is none.  _ The day was getting on, the air was cooling even further; the sun was already setting. Gohan looked at his watch and realised it was almost evening. He thought about dinner, but Trunks was spending the night with one of the kids at his class so at least there would only be one Saiyan to feed. Gohan did most of the cooking, though he did share the task with Bulma in theory, she was always busy with a project. She was a sly one when it came to dinner time. He idly wondered what Piccolo might eat, or if he had ever really eaten. With the lack of water around, it might be an idea to incorporate feeding the Namek into his routine as well. Piccolo was giving him a strange look.

“Sorry, I was just thinking”

Piccolo raised a brow.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself”

Gohan looked incredulous before he laughed, genuinely. _ Did Piccolo just make a joke?  _ The mirth on his face actually reached his eyes and the Namek couldn’t help but feel better at the sight. The Gohan he knew had laughed every other moment. As they talked, Piccolo felt his thighs begin to ache and he rocked back on the bed and kicked his legs out from beneath him, stretching them. His feet almost touched Gohan’s knees.

“You shouldn't have your shoes on the bed you know”

Piccolo just pulled a face that said, _ do I care? _

“Doing the laundry is hard enough, don’t make it worse. Unless, _ you’d  _ like to do it?”

Piccolo scowled, predictably and Gohan laughed again. Through the indignation he did notice that Gohan was clearly relaxing and he bit back his urge to pound Gohan a new one for his cheek, because this was probably the first time in a long while he had laughed and had a little fun. He kicked the shoes off and one of them hit Gohan, deliberately. 

Next time, he would kick Gohan in his smug face.

Bulma must have heard Gohan laughing and she entered the room with a smile on her face, something told Piccolo it indeed was a rare sound. Cerulean eyes looked at the reclining Namek, teal brow raising as she looked at his outfit and she bit her lip in a smirk at the sight of his socks. Reindeer were flying around his ankle. She placed a hand on her hip and winked at him.

“This isn’t a bad look for you big guy!”

Piccolo’s cheeks and ears instantly went purple and he scowled as they both started laughing. She was wearing a denim skirt and white shirt, but they were covered in black oil. It seemed Bulma hadn’t changed much over the years, she had aged a little but she was still lively and pleasant looking, he supposed, for a human. And for a female.  _ So not really then? _

He furrowed his jade brows, that wasn’t his own voice.  _ Was that Nail again? _

“Are you okay?”

The concern in Gohan’s voice reminded him of Goku.

“Fine, just...out of sorts”

“I’ll bet! You’ve come a long way, and it’s not like you had a time machine to protect you!”

He looked at her then, expectantly.

“Uh...well, I figured you didn’t. Don’t worry, I’ve made some interesting discoveries! I’ll tell you all about it over dinner!...There is dinner right?” Red lips smiled sweetly at Gohan who rolled his eyes.

Piccolo groaned inside.

  
  
  


**W.**


	3. Whiskey

Piccolo could clearly hear the sharp snap of steel hitting steel in the kitchen from the small bedroom. He had declined dinner twice before Bulma and Gohan had left the room, offended but with a silent promise to return regardless. He scowled at the thought. The novelty of waking up in this world, of wearing these stupid clothes, of feeling tired and sore and irritated; it had worn off. A slow, boiling temper had brewed into a vicious headache and he had snapped at the other two. Gohan had closed the door calmly behind him, unfazed. If it were physically possible to be angrier, he would be. 

He stood and walked to the window, rough fabric scratching ever so slightly as he walked.  _ Denim,  _ his mind supplied. Images of advertisements stretched across billboards at the side of the road, framed by glittering metal in the sun, with humans dressed in various colours of  _ denim _ . The contrast between those memories and the actual view from the window was staggering. A two metre gap between the window pane and the burgundy wall of the next building greeted him with a closed stillness; one that only inanimate objects can properly convey. The pale pinkish curtains were faded, as if pretending they had ever seen the sun, framing a windowsill with a dust layer so thick he felt unclean. Piccolo felt his throat close up. He needed to be outside, away from this strange situation and the faux Gohan mixing pots of who cares what in the room adjacent. 

He placed one strong hand flat against the window pane. A moment went by before he withdrew it, realising quickly how childish and self indulgent he was being. He had fought so many battles, put himself through hell and back training, he had even died. If in doubt, he also had his father’s horrific memories to fall back on.  _ So what’s the problem? This is just another shit situation like so many others.  _ His mind answered the rhetorical question against his will. _ It’s because this isn’t a battle, no one is fighting. _

Gohan pushed the bedroom door open slowly, as if expecting to be pounced on by a wild animal. Piccolo continued to look into the glass as the half Saiyan’s reflection came into view. The scar on his face stood out, angry and unwelcome. He remained in the doorway, voice booming into the quiet room.

“I know this isn’t ideal. But you should eat, it will make our water supplies last longer”

The Namek almost smirked at the use of inarguable logic. Before taking the young Gohan in he would not have given a second thought to anyone’s supplies, or their survival. How things have changed.  _ He’s using my weaknesses against me.  _ He swallowed his rage.

Piccolo turned and nodded. Gohan flashed half a smile and left the room. 

The wooden table held a modest amount of food, and Piccolo raised a brow ridge at just how Gohan was going to feed that outrageous appetite. He had prepared some meat, the smell of which the Namek wrinkled his nose at, and some rice for himself and Bulma. Once again, he gingerly sat down on the spare chair, as if it would easily crumble into a thousand pieces. A bowl of hot vegetable soup sat obnoxiously in front of him.

“Sorry, it probably won’t be the best thing you’ll ever taste. Vegetables only come tinned these days!”

Gohan’s words had mirth, and he swallowed with a smile.  _ How do you stay so optimistic? _

“Bulma was just telling me what her tests had come up with”

Her small hand rested the fork for a moment and she smirked sadly.

“It’s not much I’m afraid, but I don’t think you are here intentionally...exactly” she leaned back in the chair and it creaked in protest “the ions I detected where you arrived, they’re similar to the ones I postulated would exist in a temporal event. In that, when something travels back or forward in time it displaces the volume it...arrives in, and leaves a trace behind”

Piccolo stared, not really following, and so she elaborated, picking up her fork in full teacher mode.

“So if this fork travelled forward in time it would appear in exactly this spot but say...tomorrow. So my theory goes, that the air it displaces when it arrives, must be transported back in time 1 day to replace the vacuum the fork created when it disappeared”

Gohan tapped his forearm. Piccolo’s face remained impassive as he processed the information, finding the tapping distracting and loud. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of fine black hair covering the half Saiyan’s skin. His deep voice made Bulma jump slightly.

“So, someone or something travelled back in time to the precise place I occupied, and you think we...exchanged places?”

Bulma grinned, Piccolo was known for being intelligent but she’d had few chances to witness it. Gohan hummed, as if not quite believing the theory.

“I’m not sure, if that’s the case, something from our time must have travelled back...and who would be capable of that now? I mean except you Bulma, of course”

She stabbed the silver fork into a chunk of unnameable meat. 

“That! Is the question. I’ll have to work on it. But if it’s true, maybe there’s hope for us to go back and change all this. Even if it takes years, which I imagine it would. But if someone has done it already...” she trailed off.

Piccolo dipped the spoon into the soup before raising it to his lips tentatively. Gohan mulled over Bulma’s ideas and had stopped eating altogether for a moment as he watched the Namek. Very little passed for entertainment these days and he couldn’t help but be fascinated with their newcomer. Piccolo’s hand dwarfed the small spoon, and he smirked, they had lost all the big ones a year ago or so. Bulma wolfed down the rest of her modest dinner, and stood rather dramatically.

“Right, thanks for dinner sweetie, but I’ve got so much work to do.” She kissed Gohan’s cheek and he laughed as she walked away with purpose.

Piccolo wondered again if they were in one of those romantic human relationships, not that it should matter to him. It brought up a strange feeling, like he found it interesting, like he cared. He ignored it and continued to eat the soup. Gohan’s fork dropped rice as he raised it, he longed for chopsticks, but with a chipper voice he changed the subject. 

“How are you feeling? Settled in a bit more?”

“Fine”

Piccolo felt dreadful, but it was not in his nature to admit such a thing. He had as much soup as he could manage, the weight of the nutrients felt like thick watery bricks in his stomach but he still felt thirsty. He wondered if this was a feeling he should get used to sooner rather than later.

“I know this is all kinda strange, and I know you’d rather be outside training by a waterfall, but just bear with us ok?”  _ And don’t leave. _

The Namek grunted his agreement and Gohan gestured towards the bowl with raised brows. It took a moment for Piccolo to understand that Gohan wanted the rest of his soup.

“Oh...sure”

In the soft light of the kitchen, Piccolo watched Gohan eat. Soft shallow wrinkles would appear when the older man laughed or smiled, and stubble on his cheeks would glint in the light as he moved, a shade lighter than the rest of his dark hair. He knew little of humans but knew enough that the other man looked older than he was, like he had been responsible for too much already,  _ world weary _ . 

That had been a Wednesday, he had found out later, and the days had continued on in the same fashion. He would not intend to sleep, but would sleep anyway, then he would wake, meditate, they would eat soup, he would hate it, he would meditate. Trunks would try to make conversation with him but the young man would grow tired quickly of Piccolo’s stoicism. Bulma made a comment to Gohan in the kitchen, forgetting that he could hear them. 

‘I feel like he’s distancing himself Bulma’

‘...he’s not the same Piccolo, you have to remember that’. 

The comment had stuck in his mind like an annoying tune Gohan used to whistle, playing over and over. He absolutely didn’t care. He didn’t.

That was nearly two weeks ago. Piccolo sat in the little room he had been unintentionally assigned, the pale cream bed sheets had been stripped that morning by Trunks, one of his chores apparently, to be cleaned. It hardly seemed necessary, since he had avoided the bed entirely after the first couple of days. He contemplated, like every other day, just leaving but like every other day, the knowledge that his doing so may expose them made him grimace. He could leave quickly and just keep going, lead the Androids away from them even, and every time he stood up to do exactly that, he didn’t. These conflicting, contradictory feelings were making him irritable. A voice in his mind somewhere told him he didn’t even know where on the planet he was. 

The Androids were in the region at the moment apparently, but Bulma had loudly complained that they had run out of essentials. Gohan had been gone for several days, scouting for materials, food and water, and had asked the Namek to stay and protect Bulma and Trunks. Piccolo knew that this was 100% bullshit but had grown past protesting.  _ It’s because I’m not strong enough to fight the androids.  _ He wondered, not for the first time, if this was purgatory. 

Anger brewed and he still felt tired. Every now and then he wondered if Gohan was coming back, maybe he had been killed.  _ Would I even sense it? _ The thought tasted sour. These ideas circled for hours before Gohan did finally return later that evening and in good spirits, chatting avidly with Bulma in the kitchen. The sound of liquids in bags hit the floor and thirst stung in the back of his throat. A knock at the door disturbed him from his dark musings. 

“What?”

Gohan walked in, seeming a little sheepish and maybe even a little guilty. He knew Piccolo wanted to leave, but he was so terrified of losing him again. He had the self awareness to know how selfish he was being, but no desire to do anything about it.

“Hey...How have you been? Still under the weather?”

_ Ah yes, the false condition I have been diagnosed with. _

“I’m fine.” He still had his pride.

“Well, I’ve got something…” he flashed a bottle of some amber liquid “it’s not quite medicine but it will have to do”

Piccolo just looked up blankly, not really having the will to engage. Gohan’s face dropped and he sat down, mirroring the Namek's cross legged stance. He noticed that Piccolo was wearing grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. The t-shirt, he remembered had been snug on the first day, fitted him now. He had also brought two very small glasses, so small as to be incredibly inefficient, Piccolo thought. 

“I’ve done a thorough check of the region, and I’ve found a pretty good area we can use to train. Bulma is designing a portable shield device for us at the moment”

Piccolo did light up slightly at the news. He tried not to show it, but Gohan could see it. Those dark orbs didn't lie, they hadn’t done then and they didn’t now. 

“I...know how it must be, we’ve been living like this for so long I forget what it was like in the beginning, you know?”

He poured the pungent liquid into both glasses. It had been so long since he heard Piccolo say anything more than one word, he almost jumped at the low, rumbling tones.

“I know it’s necessary”

He reached out a jade hand to Gohan’s wrist and wrapped long fingers around it. The memory of his own tanned hand on the Namek’s chest, as he took one last shuffling breath, came to his mind and he swallowed the guilt as Piccolo spoke.

“You have to let me help. Let me fight if I have to. I will not be a caged animal Gohan”

The authority in his strong voice sounded so much like his own Piccolo, the mentor he had always looked up to. He nodded mutely.

“You’re right. I’m sorry”

Piccolo released his hand and took the proffered glass of golden liquid.

“What is this?”

Gohan laughed. 

“Just...swallow it as quick as you can. It will burn but it might help you feel better for a while”

Piccolo didn’t know any better, and followed the instruction without argument. Gohan cleared his throat, enjoying the sting for a moment whilst Piccolo coughed and looked at the half Saiyan accusingly. 

“It’s...it’s poison”

“Haha! No, I know it’s a little unpleasant at first but trust me, you’ll learn to like it”

Piccolo did trust him. He hadn’t really acknowledged that before. He also trusted that everything was unpleasant here, at first. Maybe he would get used to it. Gohan filled the glasses again and this time raised his, gesturing for the Namek to do the same. 

“Ok, this time, we knock them together” Gohan tapped his glass against Piccolo’s unmoving one “to...old friends!”

Piccolo sniggered softly.

“We’re new friends”

“Oh, of course! To...just friends then!”

This time Piccolo did knock his glass against Gohan’s and they both swallowed the bitter alcohol. White fangs touched the rim of the glass as he grinned and the half Saiyan hadn’t seen such a sweet, almost flirtish smile in so long. His stomach stirred slightly, but he quickly quashed that feeling. He was projecting. 

Ten minutes turned into two hours, Piccolo was resting against the wall with one leg bent, looking down the bridge of his nose at the older man. Gohan was leaning back on his hands with legs crossed and outstretched. He wondered if Piccolo had ever sat comfortably and had a drink with a friend, and then immediately felt stupid, Piccolo had probably never even contemplated sitting around just for pleasure before, let alone drinking. He had told Piccolo all the torrid stories of the Androids, of Trunks growing up and of his own family, meeting Videl. Bleak topics gave way to lighter things as Gohan told Piccolo about his alternate self, about his bravery and heroism. A light purple dusted the Namek’s cheeks at the attention, and the alcohol. 

Another round of drinks was poured, this was their 6th. Gohan was relatively unfazed but he could see Piccolo’s eyes glazing over slightly. He leaned forward to look closer at the Namek, and sniggered. Piccolo barked.

“What?”

They were inches apart, and Piccolo immediately felt his pulse quicken. 

“Do you know that you have blue, no...dark violet eyes?”

The Namek didn’t answer, he was taken aback by the other man’s proximity and the strange question. His answer was delayed, and speech slurred. 

“They’ve always been that way”

Gohan shook his head and leaned back.

“No...I mean, Piccolo, the one I knew. He had black eyes, so deep and black. Isn’t that interesting!”

He passed the drink to Piccolo and they knocked their glasses together once again. This time, Piccolo leaned forward and opened his mouth to speak.

“What shall we-

He continued moving forward and he landed ungracefully on Gohan and knocked the half Saiyan onto his back. Gohan exhaled loudly and laughed. After a moment, the Namek shifted, bracing his hands against the demi Saiyan’s chest. Dark coloured eyes blinked at Gohan, probably unable to focus at the proximity. Gohan put his own hands over unsteady jade ones, and indulged for a moment in the warmth of the other man’s body pressed against him. Felt the body heat thrum through the thin white fabric over his chest, thighs bracing his own. His body reacted too quickly and a bucket load of shame and awareness hit him square in the morals. He jerked to sit upwards, nearly sending Piccolo hurtling backwards. The Namek was laughing, properly and for no reason, and Gohan loved it. The alcohol must have tipped him over the edge now from adorably tipsy to ridiculously drunk.

He blamed his burgeoning erection on loneliness. His being had been yearning so much for contact and affection; he even found himself practicing pick up lines to a pretty girl’s face on a billboard last week. He sighed internally, he knew well that this was different, his affection for Piccolo ran deep. Even deeper than that water table Bulma kept rabbiting on about. Piccolo appeared to be completely unaware of the cacophony in Gohan’s head, as he continued.

“I said, what shall we raise our glasses to this time?”

The Namek seemed to belatedly realise his position and shuffled back to sit opposite Gohan again. The half Saiyan bent his knees a little and relaxed, somewhat aware that they should stop drinking before he did or said something utterly stupid, but unable to pull himself away. He raised the little glass.

“To sparring like old times”

Piccolo liked that but tried to hide it, choosing to nod instead.

“To old times”

Of course to Piccolo they were recent times but his mind was muggy and he didn’t care. They sat in companionable silence for a minute or two before Piccolo blurted out a rather direct and unexpected question. 

“Is that child yours?”

Gohan balked, hiccuping his response.

“Trunks? No! No...he’s Vegeta’s son”

Piccolo seemed to accept that readily enough, wondering if he should have guessed it. The boy did have an ego on him. Apparently, alcohol loosened Piccolo’s tongue more than Gohan would have ever guessed, because he continued. 

“Did you have any?”

“Children?”

“Yes”

Gohan looked down for a moment before smiling. He had forgotten that Piccolo loved children, of course it would be a topic he would bring up. 

“No, we didn’t really get a chance to get that far. I met her when the resistance was still around and, we think she died fighting”

The Namek felt bad, stupid for asking, then irritated for caring. He didn’t know what to say so opted for silence, his go to method of dealing. The other man sensed, or rather could see the emotions playing on his companion’s intoxicated features, and changed the subject. So much had happened, it was too easy to move on.

“You know, you’re pretty chatty when you’re drunk”

Piccolo visibly recoiled at that, purple dusting his cheeks and ears, nostrils flaring at the accusation. 

“How dare you”

Then Gohan couldn’t help himself, he poured them another. He shifted his behind forward so he was closer to the Namek and could see the other man swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, too large for his now younger, lithe throat. He passed the drink over, encouraging Piccolo to drink it with competition in his eyes. Beating the Namek in battle? Difficult. Manipulating him in human settings? Easy peasy. 

“I missed you”

There, he said it. The words he had wanted the world to hear since the Namek’s arrival. Once he started, he found he couldn’t stop. Whiskey fuelling his passionate release.

“I missed you so much, when I saw you...I couldn’t believe it was really you”

He moved his scarred hand to graze his thumb over prominent cheekbones, fancying he could feel the violet blush underneath. Piccolo just stiffened, out of his depth and unable to think quickly. All the height and attitude advantage he had thought he had dissolved and suddenly, he was a hatchling caught in headlights. 

Then it was happening, the thing that even Piccolo knew was coming. Gohan’s other hand came to cup the back of his jade head, sliding rough hands up his neck, the contact made him shiver. No one had touched him so carefully. It was an attack he couldn’t defend, he had no idea what to do. His slurred mind reached for Nail’s memories in blind panic but came up short. Gohan’s mahogany eyes were lidded, warm and damp. He felt himself leaning forward, lulled into the other man’s warmth and kindness. He felt drawn to the strong hands that held him still, relaxed by his charming demeanor. He licked his lips without realising, and then, he bolted up and fell back onto the bed. His words had less malice in them than he had wanted.

“What are you doing?”

The demi-Saiyan looked momentarily stunned, closely followed by muted horror. What had he done? Piccolo was far too drunk. He stuttered slightly, before clearing his throat. 

“Sorry, I...I guess i’m more drunk than I realised”

The white lie felt dirty on his tongue.  _ Oh, nice one Gohan. _

Having more experience with turning shitty situations into better ones, Gohan stood abruptly, brushing off his clothes as if nothing had happened. 

“Well, I had a nice time. We should do it again. You might want to sleep that off though”

Piccolo looked incredulous, but didn’t reply as heartily as he might have done sober. Gohan left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The Namek did sleep it off, through until the middle of the next morning. He woke up conflicted, with the mother of all headaches and a bitter taste on his tongue. 

  
  
  


**W.**


	4. Watcher

If Piccolo remembered what happened, he did an extremely good job of hiding it. Gohan felt grateful but also a little forlorn, like a part of him thought something interesting might come of it. At this point, even a good old fashioned row would be a welcome disruption to the routine. His Namekian friend just kept on with passive interest until they were able to train and spar. He looked at the calendar Trunks had fashioned for one of his school ‘art projects’, Piccolo had arrived nine months ago exactly. Bulma had even calculated the exact point he had travelled forward in time. Year 764.

Not much else had come of her findings, but Gohan wasn’t too worried anymore, they had nothing but time on their hands. They trained when they could, a couple of times a week, and his Namekian companion would meditate or pretend to for the rest of the time. The first couple of months, Piccolo had rejected Gohan’s friendship with gusto, declaring that ‘The Demon King didn’t have any need for human bullshit.’ Gohan knew better than to bring up mounting evidence to the contrary, like the laughing Namekian tumbling over him, trusting and drunk. He had simply waited the surly young man out. It was a day like any other, right up until Gohan sauntered into his almost friend’s room.

Piccolo stood frigid, every muscle on fire from tension. It had been raining, but through the myriad of droplets on the window pane Gohan could clearly see what had transfixed the Namekian so. Eighteen’s liquid blue eyes shone more brightly than the dark day should have allowed, her nose hovering just a hair breadth away from the house’s forcefield. The mahogany building behind her did nothing but accentuate how close she really was. Gohan went from calm to quite frantic at impressive speed, but managed to maintain his composure enough to act sensibly. He stepped forward, logically knowing she couldn’t break the field but terrified all the same, and placed his hands on Piccolo’s shoulders. He whispered in his ear.

“Just follow me”

Piccolo had not seen the androids before, and he now realised that he didn’t need to see them at all. They had a presence that preceded them, only he hadn’t known it. That buzz, a soft electronic hum that must be moving somewhere in her circuits, he had heard it before. She had been here before, stood in the silence, watching. Waiting. He felt sick and excited. He didn’t register Gohan’s voice until he spoke again, this time a little louder.

“Piccolo”

Reluctantly, he stepped back with Gohan, neither of them taking their eyes off the Android. She cocked her head ever so slightly, soft blonde hair falling to the side, and undid the top button of her denim jacket. Such an offhand, trivial human thing to do, and it made Piccolo swallow an undignified feeling. Gohan closed the door to the single bedroom and pushed a makeshift emergency button on the wall. The house lights dimmed a little, and Piccolo could hear machinery whirring somewhere. 

Bulma appeared a few seconds later, still sweating from being on the treadmill, with Trunks in hand.

“Where are they?”

“The girl is outside his window,” he pointed to the door, “so her brother must be somewhere near”

_ Please God don’t be in the house. _

The same thought had occurred to Piccolo, and even though he had been informed that they had no chi to sense, he still searched for it. Cursing, he closed his eyes and listened.

“I don’t hear anything”

But then he hadn’t really heard the blonde stalking him either. How long had she been there? How many times had she visited?  _ What the fuck was she doing? _

Gohan made a non committal noise and gestured for them to follow him into the kitchen. Piccolo paused, itching to fight, but something made him follow his bossy pupil. He sneered at the realisation. He watched, noiselessly, as each of them grabbed a bag with, what Piccolo assumed, was belongings packed for this kind of emergency. Trunks handed him one too. He took it without argument, realising they were likely leaving and fiddled with the straps to put it on his back. Bulma grabbed him roughly, and he stiffened. She strapped him into it whilst talking to Gohan, and he thought it funny, because the Bulma he knew wouldn’t have come within six feet of him without fainting.

“I’ve sealed off the exits, we’ll have to come back for my lab equipment. Luckily, there’s a place not too far that we can go to, unoccupied and not too badly damaged,” she patted him on the back before rounding to do the same for Trunks “let’s hope they’ve gotten slower.”

She smiled the most humourless smile Piccolo had ever seen on a human being.

“I’ll take Bulma, Piccolo - can you take Trunks?”

Trunks scowled dramatically, the most Vegeta-like face he’d pulled so far. He nodded.

They grabbed a few more things, Gohan shoved bottles of water and various liquids into Piccolo’s bag, last minute items went into everyone’s pockets except Piccolo, who had never thought to fashion any into his gi; a fact he felt bizarrely bad about now. To his chagrin, Bulma passed him some kind of device to place over his head. 

“It’s so we can hear each other. Let’s go”

They were out of the door quickly, flying at the highest speed possible from the moment of take off. Gohan had been worried about using the door, expecting the Androids to be stood, poised to knock, like a couple of murderous evangelists. Piccolo took a moment to feel suspicious, also expecting them, but soon focussed on their escape. Bulma looked back sadly at their now abandoned little domicile but Piccolo was glad to be free of the hideous, brick prison. Trunks felt dense and warm in his arms, and he held onto him tightly, although he’d deny that he had grown attached to the charming and surly youngster. The dilapidated city blurred past them in all its ruined glory, Gohan’s orange gi fluttering in the wind looked obnoxious ahead of him. 

Eighteen watched them leave in an organised flurry, narrowing her eyes in amusement. She levitated, with all the grace of a ballerina, and followed in silence. Piccolo spotted someone in the distance, and his heart quickened. He hoped Trunks couldn’t feel it. His voice sounded strange and nasal in the headset. 

“She’s behind us”

Gohan opened his mouth to speak but wasn’t able to, he dropped Bulma, doubling over in pain. Seventeen’s fist shattered something as it hit, moving his flesh and insides alike. Blood gargled in the back of his throat and he cursed with red teeth. Bulma was falling, and screaming. Piccolo tried to dive for her but a steely hand around his ankle halted him mid flight; Trunks felt the jerk and struggled out of his hands to go after his mother. Piccolo all but threw him away from their attacker. Eighteen squeezed and he could feel his fibula bend and heard it moan in a bony protest. He kicked her in the face, as hard as he could manage from this angle, and looked back to check on Gohan. 

He was punching the other android over and over, green eyes enraged as his fist met hard reinforced metal, over and over. Piccolo snarled as Eighteen almost punched him in the stomach, rolling mid air and delivering a back kick. She swerved, remembering well the power of the Namek’s long legs the last time she had killed him. How he had reappeared she had no idea, and it piqued her curiosity no end. Her blonde hair whipped his teeth, as she whispered in his ear. Knives for fingers dug into his biceps painfully. 

“What have we here?”

Her voice was soft, soothing and cold. She bit his ear and he yelped, hoping no one heard it, before head butting her hard. He followed it with a hand to the throat as she recoiled back, charging an attack in her face. Gohan yelled something but he didn’t get a chance to respond as something struck his spine, hard. Bewildered, and in blinding pain, he wondered if Trunks had caught Bulma. 

Eighteen took her chance to go after Gohan, leaving her brother to continue his assault. The smaller man avoided Piccolo’s elbow, then Piccolo’s punch and he found himself getting annoyed. They were faster than him, stronger than him, and all by a country fucking mile. Seventeen grabbed him, pin fingers as sharp as his sister’s and flew them into the ground below. Hitting the rubble and concrete at speed felt exactly as comfortable as he’d imagined it, dust pillowed up and scratched his eyes. The android’s hand around his throat came out of grey nowhere and they struggled for the upper hand. Piccolo had a feeling this android wanted a fight more than he wanted to kill him, and he supposed he should feel lucky. Laughing blue eyes came directly into his vision, and he choked, clawing at the hand around his throat. Piccolo used his weight to roll them and drove a knee unceremoniously into Seventeen’s crotch. It hurt, and he laughed. Seventeen’s eyes narrowed.  _ That was a dick move, Namek.  _

The headset had disappeared somewhere but he heard it crackle, hoped it was Bulma saying she was okay. He didn’t have time to analyse the sentimentality of the thought before Gohan sent Seventeen flying through the building behind them. Piccolo found himself being dragged along at Super Saiyan speed suddenly, and the same type of chi shield they used for training enveloped them. He could see another one ahead, probably for Bulma and Trunks. Piccolo scowled.  _ Now they use the shields. _

They flew for another hour, slower this time whilst mapping the landscape, before landing on the roof of a row of houses, all five stories tall. Or what Piccolo assumed was a house, it looked old, with crumbling bay windows and covered in ivy. He raised a brow. Gohan laughed, somehow, and bared his blood stained teeth. Piccolo took place at the back and followed them through a steel door, down stone steps in the dark, and onto a landing. Carpets and chandeliers that might have looked grand once met their squinting eyes. Bulma kept walking until she reached a door with a gold plated plaque with the number 52 on it.

“This is it. Welcome to your new home boys”

She pushed the door open and the permeating smell of dust that Piccolo was truly fed up with puffed out. The hallway was a good size, lined with mosaic tile and coats that didn’t belong to anyone anymore, it appeared to all be on one floor. The word came to him eventually. _ An apartment.  _ It opened into a living room, it looked aged, and the kitchen was bigger than their previous one. Plush seating with colourful cushions matched the curtains. Large windows looked on at them, ornate and leering; Piccolo immediately started opening them. Bulma started to fuss but he interrupted her.

“They’re being opened”

She hesitated, before letting him have his way, suspecting that his Namekian senses were to blame. Trunks grabbed his hand and he looked down to the bruised little boy. 

“Come on Piccolo, let’s go pick our rooms before they do”

Stunned at the action, so much like his little Gohan had done, he allowed himself to be led back into the hallway, wooden floorboards creaking underneath them as they went. Why he indulged the boy so much he could not fathom. Trunks investigated all the bedrooms, of which there were four, and declared his chosen one. 

“This is mine, it’s the best”

Piccolo smirked. 

“You should take this one Piccolo, it’s second best. I think you’ll like it”

The Namek raised a brow and peered inside the room. It was so much larger than his previous, dismal little room and he hummed his approval. The same big windows lined the wall ahead of him, with floral curtains he didn’t care for, but the view more than made up for it. It looked onto fields and forest, all green and untouched by the misery. Trunks wandered into his own room with a lingering comment.

“I told you”

He assessed the rest of the room, a double bed lay tidily in the middle, simple decor with a grey rug stretched across the floor. A useless TV sat in the corner, surrounded by a wall so full of books they had been shoved into every crevice. His curiosity had grown since coming to this weary future and he grabbed one of the books, wiping a thumb over the title to clear the dust.

**The Chronicles of Narnia**

It didn’t mean anything to him, and he returned it to the bookcase. Gohan watched him from the doorway, eventually walking into the room to announce his presence.

“Well, this is an improvement isn’t it?”

Piccolo heard his footsteps before his words, turning to acknowledge him. He continued his appraisal, he was so used to the other man’s presence now; it used to fluster him being around people all the time. A door in the corner led to a little bathroom and Piccolo’s eyes widened at the tub, independent and ornate like the rest of the decor. It wasn’t very large, but it was deep, which meant that the Namek actually had a shot at feeling clean. 

To his irritation, Gohan followed him into the small space. 

“This is nice, Bulma’s already gone to work on the plumbing so you should be able to use it soon”

She was actually installing her own water conversion system, a capsule corp invention that allowed people to easily fend for themselves in this version or reality. She had even sold a fair few before there was no market, and no money. Gohan smiled fondly, remembering that she had made it purely for his own mother to use, once upon a time. It’s one of the reasons she had started looking in this location, because of the reservoir half a mile away. He’d join her shortly to lay down the pipework, although most of it was self replicating, it weighed a tonne and there would be pumps to lug around.

He knew that his taller friend would be itching for a bath; having private use of a waterfall had spoiled him. He also knew the Namekian would be calculating if he could just take his leave and wander off into the forest just ahead of the field out of the window. 

“We could get it done quicker if you lend us a hand?”

Piccolo nodded, he actually didn’t mind helping, even wanted to be useful. He sneered to cover it.

“Fine”

They both headed down the grand spiralling staircase in the centre of the building, leaving Trunks to mess around in his room. The lights had flickered on as they had left; Bulma had made quick work of hooking up their generator. Not for the first time, Piccolo marvelled at her intelligence and ability, and again thought it was such a waste inside a fragile human body. He let his hands feel the worn wood of the bannister as they made their descent. His fingers were still sore from hitting androids and he felt an odd sense of dysphoria; how they had gone from a vicious fight for their life, to this, in the space of half a day. A thought occurred to him as they walked, but he couldn’t quite analyse it, something about the way the androids had looked bothered him. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon following Bulma’s instructions, Piccolo was surprisingly nimble and able to get his hands in difficult to reach places with his Namekian abilities. The pump, or what Piccolo assumed was the pump, at the reservoir was huge. He made a comment about the androids spotting it but Gohan assured him it would be shielded, from his vantage point, hanging off the side of it, he could almost see their building. Never had he imagined he’d be doing such things. 

Gohan called up to him.

“Okay, next, reach in and pull the second lever down”

Piccolo complied, squeezing his arm through the tight gap. Humans would have set all this up before encasing it in alloy but the blue haired scientist made it clear they had no time for following such procedures. It was warm and even without his gi top he felt clammy and unpleasant. The machine was already functioning and the metal was hot to the touch, burning his pink armour and leaving little red blotches up and down his arms. 

“Have you done it?”

He matched Gohan’s shout with one of his own.

“No!”

He was beginning to feel light headed, and belatedly wondered if he’d banged his head too hard in their earlier brawl. He wouldn’t have felt so pathetic in his own world, this horrid future was doing something to him. Talons grazed the lever and he pulled it, locking it in its downwards position. Gohan had floated up to get a better view of what was taking so long, coming face to face with a sweaty, angry Namek.

He had hooked his legs around the upright struts and had one arm deep inside the outer casing. Gohan pursed his lips at the odd arrangement but said nothing. Another snipe at Piccolo’s handiwork might actually end their already fragile friendship. 

“Okay, last bit now, just further on. So that’s left of the lever, there’s a switch to start the automatic pressure release...valve...mechanism...wait”

Piccolo rolled his eyes and grabbed the manual with his free hand. Gohan waited impatiently, hovering. He mentally noted his friend's strong back, his taut abs, his slim waist. He felt stupid, again, and cursed that it kept happening. He had been telling himself it was just biology. Piccolo wasn’t strictly male, as far as he understood, and he was so lonely. Trunks and Bulma were great company but not at night, not when he needed someone to-

Piccolo interrupted his thoughts and Gohan immediately panicked that the Namek might have heard them. The manual was shoved in his hands.

“Here”

He reached back inside the machine, cringing at his burning flesh, which he was sure Gohan was beginning to smell as he was starting to look stressed. A banging noise resounded through the metal and he withdrew his aching arm, finally. Despite the awkward work, he enjoyed it more than he was ever going to let on. Gohan patted him on the back, which Piccolo found irritating as fuck. 

“Good job! Let’s go see if it’s working”

He jumped down, landing gracefully. The temptation to jump into the reservoir was strong but Bulma had forbidden them both from letting their bodies touch her drinking water. They walked back amiably, Gohan talking about how he was glad in a way that the androids had discovered them, so that they had an excuse to move on from ‘the grotty little bungalow’. 

Piccolo didn’t know what the word grotty meant, but he could guess. Bulma met them at the bottom of the staircase, her hair askew and tied back in its usual messy bun. 

“We’re on boys, why don’t you both go test it out”

A not so subtle hint. 

\----

Bulma lay on the sofa, everything had been hoovered by a grumbling Trunks, so at least most of the dust had gone. Her bones felt tired but her brain kept working. Her mother used to say that she had been cursed with an overactive imagination, and the brains to do something about it. She smiled at the memory, missing the soft scent of her mother’s hair and her parent’s smiling faces.

She even missed Vegeta, although their turbulent relationship hadn’t lasted spectacularly long. Trunks had been the surprise of her lifetime. She let the sadness wash over her.  _ What a world to bring him into.  _

Unlike herself and Gohan, Trunks had adapted brilliantly. He didn’t really know any different, found happiness in the oddest of places and made friends where he could. Got over it when he couldn’t. Forgot about them when they left. The androids had little else to do but hunt remaining humans, and they made such a long sport of it, people were leaving or disappearing all the time. She hadn’t told the boys yet that there was another family moving in a couple of floors down, it had all been arranged. She laughed.  _ Family, I guess that’s what we are. _

Piccolo barely heard Bulma’s laugh, and he was eternally grateful for the thicker walls. He sat in the ceramic bath, legs bent but with its depth the water nearly came up to his shoulders. His knees poked out of the water and he let his legs drop and spread to dip them under. His eyelids dropped and he let himself nod off in the warmth, it must be the first time he had felt content since arriving. The adrenaline from their short and humiliating fight earlier had well and truly taken leave, and he now felt the impact of every single punch. He preferred bathing by his waterfall, but this beat the shower at their previous house. It alternated between hot and lukewarm, would hammer you one minute and spit at you the next. He let his thoughts drift and they, as usual, went straight to Gohan. Strong mahogany eyes staring up at him, thick hair wavering in the wind. Hazy thoughts of the other man made his fingers twitch and he gripped his thigh. 

Bulma walked in, nearly resulting in her receiving a chi blast to the face. She held up her hands in mock surrender. She did eventually avert her gaze, but not before getting an eye full, and she chuckled to herself.

“Just checking the pressure”

She turned on the taps at the sink, but gave the younger man a wide berth.

“Get out!”

She pulled a face that might have been an apology. They had been living under each other’s feet for so long she had forgotten what privacy meant. Although she hadn’t forgotten how furiously private the Namek was, she had now become an expert at ignoring it. He heard her voice carrying as she left all the doors open in her wake.

“Don’t go in there unless you want to be bitten by a rattlesnake”

Gohan laughed and entered his room anyway. Piccolo thought he might explode with anger. He decided to finish washing, repeatedly dropping a questionable, ancient bar of soap and eventually stepped out onto a shaggy grey mat. Gohan threw a towel through the door and it landed at his feet.

“I’ve put some more on your bed”

For some reason, the small gesture pissed him off immensely. He could make his own, make them all towels and clothes, but Gohan insisted on this pathetic, domesticity. Not in the mood for an argument, he tried to school his features. He supposed it saved his energy, which had come in short supply with the lack of water up until now. He conjured a new gi and stepped into his room, eyeing the Saiyan lying on his bed. Sock covered toes wiggled as he looked at the ceiling and Piccolo tried to assess whether or not Gohan was clean enough to be on his bed at all. 

“Have you bathed?”

Gohan looked at him, insulted.

“Yes, thank you”

The Namek grunted, padding over to the other man and staring down at him.

“Get out”

Gohan smiled, sweetly, and it made Piccolo swallow. 

“Just seeing if your bed is comfier than mine”

He raised a brow at the playful attitude. 

“You can swap them around for all I care”

Gohan just snickered. It made Piccolo contemplate moving to the nearby forest permanently, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d be dragged back kicking and screaming. T _ hat, and those goddamn androids. _

“Just lie next to me for a minute”

“Why?”

Gohan just gave him a look that said ‘I dare you’.

Piccolo huffed, hesitated, then ungracefully laid down beside the Saiyan. A few moments went by. He couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of the other man’s bicep against his own.

“I knew it! This bed is bigger than mine!”

_ What a child _ . Piccolo actually chuckled under his breath, and meant it, making Gohan turn onto his side with one hand propping up his head. His hair had grown out again and, together with his ever darkening stubble, it made him look very unkempt. It brought the Namek straight back to that day he had tried whiskey, and that hand had come smoothly up the back of his neck. He wondered if Gohan had the same thought, because he coughed a little and sat up, climbing off the bed entirely. 

“Well, see you at dinner. I have to go enjoy my ‘third best’ room”

Trunks had assigned Gohan’s as well, then. 

“Shut the door behind you”

He closed his eyes at the sound of finally having some peace and quiet. The sun had already set and a gentle dark blue allowed a few stars to glimmer through the open window. The lamp cast a nice glow, although it was hideous, and in that moment, he decided to skip dinner. He rolled onto his side and made a small, surprised noise, spotting a single black hair which the wild child had left behind. He traced a finger across it gently. 

\----

Gohan received the news of their soon to arrive neighbours with a shout, making Bulma feel all warm about it. She hadn’t mentioned that she and the father, Atsuto, had been exchanging messages for nearly a year now. They had met once and exchanged numbers, or rather, capsule corp codes, whilst raiding an empty health food shop. He had two sons and a daughter, all alive and healthy-ish, and no wife. Or so she had assumed given the nature of some of their messages. 

Trunks was excited to hear of having two youngsters to play with, though she had warned him to keep his saiyan strength to a minimum. Piccolo heard the ruckus as he left the apartment, not paying attention to what was being said, and closed the front door gently behind him. Thankfully, Bulma had given them all the lock code for the door this time. He grimaced at the patronising thought. He ventured into the adjacent apartment, it was utterly ruined and in far worse shape than their own. Finding a spare bit of horrid, dust ridden carpet, he sat down in the peaceful silence and meditated. 

A couple of hours passed by before the inevitable footsteps of Gohan arrived, but he was glad of it. He sensed the oncoming verbal grief and held up a hand.

“Before you start. I have very good hearing, and every now and then, I need the quiet”

The demi-Saiyan mulled over his words and just nodded. 

“Just let us know”

“Fine”

What he didn’t divulge is the importance of his meditation. He needed the quiet in order to do it properly, and he needed to do it daily. There wasn’t a lot propping up his balanced mind; too many memories of other people, too many conflicting feelings and thoughts, different personalities warring for dominance.

“I know it’s late, but would you come with me to get some supplies?”

Piccolo perked up, and nodded.

They returned to their own apartment first, to put on what Trunks called ‘ninja wear’. Piccolo materialised a version of what Gohan was wearing, black pants and a black padded jacket. Once the young boy had declared that they looked cool enough, they left with empty backpacks.

Gohan talked, like he usually did, as they walked down the stairs.

“Sorry I haven’t asked you along before”

The words,  _ I didn’t want you to get hurt _ , went unsaid but Piccolo heard them anyway. He wondered what had changed. Maybe it’s because they encountered the androids and he had survived. Either way, he was annoyingly used to the other man’s Mother Hubbard routine and for the first time, supposed he was lucky someone cared. Bulma was rubbing off on him.

They walked out into the street with little or no bluster. Like it was just another rainy, quiet night. This neighbourhood had not been as badly damaged, since it was on the edge of the city, and Gohan revelled in the relative normality of it. Eighteen watched them, her icy eyes lifeless in the dark, perched on a wall across the street. She let them pass her, not moving, not following. 

  
  


**W.**


	5. No Relation of Mine

They both travelled on foot, hoping that with their dark garments in the moonlight, they would simply blend into the night. Piccolo watched Gohan walk with a spring in his step and he chose not to voice how premature the other man’s positive mood is. There is a possibility, however slight, that the androids had followed them here, after all. Gohan stopped abruptly and pushed a metal door, with cracked panes, open as carefully as his strength would allow. A little red and yellow sign that said ‘guide dogs welcome’ flapped uselessly against the broken glass. Piccolo followed him inside and mirrored Gohan’s own movements, retrieving a torch from one of the bag’s many pockets. He pressed every single part of the tiny metal device and eventually it switched on. It took him a moment to identify what he was looking at; maybe a grocery store, albeit an almost empty one.

Gohan filled in the blanks with his chipper yet hushed voice. Although his primary concern was the androids, other humans had also shown a tendency to be violent and desperate in recent years. 

“It’s a supermarket”

“Oh.” Piccolo looked at the dank and dusty shelves and wondered what was super about it. 

“Try and look for anything we might be able to eat or drink, or if there’s anything you’d like”

Gohan made a gesture with his hand as if Piccolo might actually want to do some shopping. The Namek doubted there would be much to scrounge here and not for the first time, thought they would be a lot better off living in the wilderness. A distant thought occurred that he hadn’t really seen much wildlife, certainly not in the city but also not in the fields or woods opposite the apartment. The demi-Saiyan had been hunting several times, although he hadn’t caught a great deal. He stored the thought for another time.

Gohan went about searching for any tinned goods, trying hard to ignore the distant stench of the rotted food, long since thawed in the freezers. Piccolo meandered around, struggling to identify what might be food or otherwise, picking up dusty items and putting them back again with a strained expression. He tried to use his height to some advantage, but humans were easily able to climb on things, and the top shelves had been decimated as well. He reached to the back and frowned at a solitary packet, it had a picture of a bowl of food on it. He put it in the bag.  _ Perhaps Bulma would have been better for this. _

Gohan bagged whatever he could, whether or not it would be pleasant. He spotted a book, partially torn and smiled; Piccolo looked at him quizzically as he rounded the corner. Gohan opened his mouth to explain but just made a noise of surprise. Piccolo had resorted to just putting everything he could find in the bag and it was clearly full of inedible junk. A box of value ribbed condoms fell out and Gohan couldn’t help but start laughing. 

“Have you just put everything you can find in there?”

Piccolo grunted.

“Everything I could reach”

That included anything that had rolled underneath the shelves; where he had found two bottles of wine, a tiny box of mints and fabric softener. Gohan smirked as he peered at his companion’s loot. 

“I think we’re about done here”

Piccolo nodded for Gohan to lead the way out. The night air felt considerably welcome after inhaling so much dust and the Namek wrinkled his nose, voicing his distaste.

“You should have moved to a farm”

The demi-Saiyan laughed under his breath, humoring his friend. 

“You see one, you let me know”

The journey back had been uneventful, unbeknownst to them, Eighteen had vacated her perch across the road. Piccolo had been apprised of the news of a family moving into the same block, hadn’t cared, had snarled at Bulma’s hysterics as she unloaded his bag, and finally returned to his room for some peace and quiet. He considered slamming his door but Trunks did that sometimes in a temper.

The other occupants settled down for the night, eventually, and the Namekian enjoyed a few hours of decent meditation before a yelp made him come to. He turned his head in the darkness, listening, and realised that the boy was making strange noises. Adrenaline poured into his veins and he stood, slowly, and stepped lightly to Trunks’ room. It reminded him terribly of his Gohan crying in his sleep and a horrid part of him dimly hoped it might actually be the androids and not some sentimental nonsense. No such luck.

Trunks’ arms were flailing around under the bedclothes, his face and violet hair wet with perspiration, glinting in the moonlight. Piccolo sighed, he considered leaving the boy to it but his chest prickled at the boy’s anguish, clenched as Trunks tried to battle his imaginary assailant. Nearing the bed, he gently grabbed the child’s wrists and whispered deeply.

“Boy. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up”

He shook him gently, hoping he wouldn’t accidentally get a Saiyan kick to the head for his efforts. 

“Trunks”

He bit his lip, fangs rolling the flesh, digging for memories of quelling a young Gohan. He smiled a little at the memory, placing a large cool hand on the boy’s too warm forehead. The writhing died down a little and he rolled over, muttering. Gohan stood at the doorway, he had heard Trunks crying out and assumed he was having another bad dream. It happened often. He didn’t expect to find Piccolo already tending to him and couldn’t help but watch the scene play out. He regretted it a little now, as the Namek would likely bark and storm off at having been ‘spied’ on. 

He walked into the room, keeping his voice low.

“Is he alright?”

Piccolo jumped back slightly but covered it quickly, instead he scanned Gohan for a moment, then tried to cover that too. He answered a click too late.

“Yes”

Gohan was wearing his boxers so Piccolo averted his gaze, finding a sudden interest in the wall’s repulsive wallpaper. The smaller man smirked at the sudden bashfulness and turned to leave.

“Okay, night then”

He caught a grumbled ‘night’ like response as he returned to his own room. 

\-----

Bulma was in high spirits. The new neighbours had arrived and she had invited them over for a paltry but well planned dinner. As much as she appreciated having Gohan around for company, she yearned for companionship and someone to while the time away with that wasn’t her best friend’s son. A few times she had wondered if things might change between them, as Gohan grew older, lonelier and she herself grew tired of waiting. They had ended up in each other’s arms a few times, but she had put the brakes on anything more, anything complicated. He was still so young and deserved not to feel obliged to remain with her and Trunks, and so she kept that door closed. He would do the honorable thing, and she couldn’t have that. The occasional comment regarding her ageless beauty, however, she didn’t mind so much. Besides, Gohan only had eyes for their Namekian house-mate these days. A small smile graced her lips. 

She had forgotten about Piccolo’s temper and disagreeableness in the early days, and it still surprised her how used to him she had become since his arrival. He still abhorred noise and socialising, bit back too easily to her teasing and kept to himself. She had noticed him pottering around sometimes, although he would resent such an accusation, watering plants, making tea and helping Trunks attempt DIY. Obviously filing time between training and meditating with Gohan. Bulma had started to wonder if the Namek would ever stop looking at the forest like it was home and settle in. She cursed as the knife slipped and cut her pinky whilst chopping. 

At least her Trunks had another role model, although she wouldn’t have picked Piccolo out of a crowd, but between the three of them they could give the boy some hope and guidance. Maybe they’d even come up with a way to kill the androids. She smiled wistfully, at the very least, she was glad Piccolo had for some reason, found condoms. She washed her hands, stuck a small plaster on the tiny wound and continued chopping.

\----

Gohan couldn’t help being in good spirits, most humans he encountered were starving, terrified and angry; the new family seemed positive and almost normal. Not that he himself remembered what that even meant. They had moved into the apartment two floors below their own, and Bulma had sent him to get them hooked up to their power supply. Atsuto was an amiable man, with dark hair and kind eyes, and three helpful children. He wondered if they would be quite so well behaved if the world had been kinder to them.

The eldest, Kenji, was maybe twenty, the daughter, Kira, about seventeen and youngest son, Kane, only ten or eleven. He hadn’t wanted to ask too much about them, a bad habit from not expecting people to live very long. Even those who the androids spared had suffered terribly with radiation poisoning, a hangover from every type and size of atomic weapon that the humans had thrown in defense. He berated himself for it, and promised himself that he’d have a better attitude at dinner. 

Piccolo had been quite obviously dodging anything to do with the new humans, and Gohan had to go into the shabby apartment next door to find him. He hated it, it looked so much like a visual representation of their shitty lives. The Namek ignored his arrival but Gohan spoke anyway.

“They’ve moved in”

Piccolo grunted. Three kids. He couldn’t wait to be stared at and endlessly questioned by yet more children. He felt plagued by tiny people. Gohan continued.

“Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours”

The Namek opened his eyes, his deep voice rumbled in the dilapidated living room.

“Yes, Bulma said”

Gohan lingered, before sitting down next to Piccolo with his legs stretched out. The Namek sighed, sensing that something was on the other man’s mind. He knew that he was a mile past the point of ignoring, or not caring, about this older, more complicated Gohan and it fucked him off daily. His question came out a little clipped as a result.

“What’s wrong?”

Gohan chewed his lip a little bit, not quite sure of himself. He had only come to tell Piccolo about dinner, and he liked to know where the Namek was, but sitting there, with his hands in a centimetre of dust, his mind roiled with questions.

“Do you miss it?”

Piccolo blinked, and abandoned any pretense of meditation.

“Miss what?”

“Your world, the other...Gohan”

Piccolo paused, not really sure how to answer. He hated this topic so much.

“It doesn’t matter, this future was or is my future, there is no escaping it”

“That’s not what I asked”

The Namekian sighed, how quickly Gohan’s mood had gone from inappropriately chipper to pensive and depressed. Maybe being honest would help.

“I miss him, of course, he was like a son to me”

Gohan made a noise of thought, and turned to look at his former mentor. Piccolo saw something click in the older man’s eyes and he frowned at it. It looked oddly hopeful. 

“You don’t see us as the same person, do you?”

“You are the same person”

“But you...don’t think of me as him?”

Piccolo was becoming irritated with this line of questioning. It was pointless to debate the past. He snarled his answer, chest tight, saying more than he meant to.

“What I think doesn’t change anything. I can’t change  _ anything _ ”

Gohan’s expression softened. Piccolo carried so much around and never talked about it, it made him want to put a pin in him just so all the hot air would come out.

“No one expects you to, you know”

Piccolo’s voice was quieter this time.

“Then why am I here?”

Gohan placed a hand on Piccolo’s left knee and squeezed. 

“I realised a long time ago that...there isn’t a reason. Things just happen, people die and there’s no reason. No big picture”

Piccolo visibly recoiled at that, would that happy little boy turn into this man? Gohan evidently felt bad, fidgeting, and wanted to say:

_ You’ll get used to it.  _

He felt wretched now for turning their lighthearted conversation into an opportunity to rant and spread his pessimism and so, he acted impulsively. He didn’t want to see that hopeless look on his wonderful mentor’s face.

He moved quickly, deliberately, so Piccolo wouldn’t have too much time to react, and swung his left leg over the Namek’s crossed ones. Gohan used his density to push Piccolo firmly onto his back, noticing distantly that Piccolo had tried to uncross his legs unsuccessfully, and was now bracing his long, strong jade fingers across his chest. His dark eyes were wide and for a moment, even through the cloud of rancid dust, Gohan wondered if he had gone too far. Piccolo wasn’t fighting him off. Maybe he was just too shocked.  _ Maybe he trusts you. _

That hurt, and Gohan swallowed thickly. He stilled as he leaned over Piccolo, his hands bracing either side of the pink and green shoulders he loved so much. He could see Piccolo’s adam’s apple bob and the sound of his own heavy breathing made him feel like a pervert. Slowly, he leaned further down, an inch or so away from the Namekian’s flushed and unreadable face. He hoped Piccolo would understand the depth of his question, and searched his eyes to make sure.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Piccolo’s hands were still braced against Gohan’s chest and he could feel the other man’s rapid heartbeat. He could smell that familiar Saiyan musk, mixed with floral soap and moisturiser. He could see his big, beautiful brown eyes. Felt that solid, reassuring weight press down on top of him. Felt his body start to burn where Gohan was pressed against him. He wasn’t in control anymore, he wanted to say yes, stop.

“No”

The word out of his mouth shocked him more than it did Gohan. 

The demi-Saiyan drew in a deep, shuddering breath he hadn’t known he needed. Carefully, as if Piccolo might change his mind and bolt, he placed his warm fingers around Piccolo’s own, moving them from their defensive position against his chest to the broken wooden floor. He didn’t feel any resistance, but looked hard for it. Piccolo’s cheeks, his ears and his nose were peppered with a violet blush and he leaned in, so close. Gohan could see Piccolo’s lips quiver slightly, and his dark ebony eyes looked open and warm. It wasn’t an expression he had seen before, on either Piccolo that he knew, and it spelled - kiss me. He had to be sure and so he whispered it, like a warning.

“I’m going to kiss you”

Piccolo’s fingers tightened against Gohan’s own in anticipation. In concealed need. He had seen humans kiss, had always thought it vile, but now it was all he could think about. His body ached for it. The demi-Saiyan’s lips moved against his own all too quickly, chapped and warm, taking his own lips with them. He didn’t know what to do and suddenly felt quite foolish, but the thought was pushed away as Gohan leaned in further, his movements coming quicker. Gohan’s teeth nibbled at his lower lip and Piccolo instinctively opened his mouth, acting unbidden, drawing the other man’s tongue inside. The demi-Saiyan delved into him, lapping, and he couldn’t help but growl and he hoped, blindly, that Gohan didn’t hear it. He was aware that he was moving underneath and against Gohan, his breaths were coming sharp and short through his nose and he didn’t want to stop. 

Gohan did stop, parting to breathe deeply and look at the Namekian beneath him. The taste of Piccolo felt delicious on his tongue and he licked his lips, taking in those dark, lust bitten eyes staring up at him. He very much wanted more but knew that Piccolo would need more breathing room, time to brood and adjust, or perhaps time to just pretend this never happened. He schooled himself to accept whatever came, but didn’t want to pull away, realising that this may be as close as he’d ever get. He smoothed his thumb over one forest green cheekbone, trailing his fingers up and down one pointed ear, wanting to memorise the sensation. 

Piccolo just stared, shivering at Gohan’s gentle touch and trying to understand his own feelings about the man laid on top of him. This charming, kind man who seemed to want to touch him, kiss him. He couldn’t reconcile his thoughts at all; he had not experienced such a feeling before, such a tingling sensation where Gohan’s fingertips brushed his skin. He had been sure that Namekians didn’t suffer from these bizarre human impulses, didn’t lust after each other, didn’t get distracted chasing mates. But here he was, whether he liked it or not, his body stirring and throat thick with desire. His heart, heavy with something he didn’t understand. 

Gohan continued his soft ministrations, and let his breathing normalise before leaning down again, this time cupping Piccolo’s face whilst he kissed him, gently. Piccolo closed his eyes, moving his free hand to grip the back of Gohan’s head, fingers sliding into his thick, brown hair. Holding onto Gohan’s own hand tightly with the other, where it rested on top of an old floorboard beside his head. Even with his inexperience, Piccolo felt the emotion and longing that Gohan poured into the soft kiss. It occurred to him that he had lost that girl, Videl, and that perhaps he was using Piccolo to remember. The thought felt sour in his confused mind. 

He pulled Gohan’s head away and swallowed, arousal and affection thrumming away, he felt damp everywhere like he had been fighting too long. Gohan seemed to get the hint, and rolled to lie next to Piccolo. He felt more than saw the Namek close down, and to his own dismay, he wanted to cry. Piccolo stood, clumsily, and left the apartment in a flurry of quiet escape. Gohan laid there for thirty more minutes.

\-----

Bulma felt incredibly proud of the dinner she had put on; it might have even been enough to somewhat satisfy Trunks’ and Gohan’s endless appetite. She smoothed down her fitted sunshine yellow dress, sparing a glance for the black strap sandals she absolutely adored. Gohan would have thrown a fit if he’d have known that she had gone on a little shopping spree of her own earlier that day and found them in a house across the street. The sandals would be a great addition to the bland shoe collection that came with the wardrobe capsule she had grabbed. She hoped Atsuto would appreciate the effort she had gone to, a part of her missed a time when her clothes mattered more. More to her, to her friends, colleagues, even her own mother. Even the subtle competition with Chi-Chi’s beautiful traditional gowns. She sighed but soon brightened up when the door beeped.

Gohan and Piccolo were nowhere to be found and she huffed a little but put on her best-host face, calling Trunks to the door to greet their guests. The boy had been forced into brown slacks, a light blue dress shirt and navy tie. She had laughed inside, he looked like an angry little accountant. Trunks tried to rake his colourful hair out of the style his mother had insisted on and smiled, huge and fake as the door was opened. Soon, Atsuto and his family were seated at the table and Trunks was sent to find Gohan and Piccolo, whilst Bulma entertained. 

Trunks opened Gohan’s door whilst muttering about being told what to do, and Gohan nearly walked into him. 

“I know, I know. Sorry I’m late”

Trunks raised a violet brow, as if to say, how can you be late when you’ve been here for hours? Gohan smiled a typical Son grin, whilst putting on the suit jacket Bulma had prescribed him. The black suit looked alright against the white shirt but he left the tie. Trunks was immediately furious.

“Why don’t you have to wear a tie?!”

“Because I don’t, that’s why”

“What! That’s not fair!”

Gohan chuckled and he tried to calm his features as he passed Trunks in the doorway, facing Piccolo’s room. As quiet as Piccolo was, he could hear the Namek’s brooding temper in the hallway. He knocked on the door whilst Trunks scowled up at him with small,muscled arms crossed. The young man was looking more and more like his father. 

Piccolo scowled at the pine door and shouted, hating how petulant he sounded. He wanted to say fuck off but he could hear Trunks’ huffy breaths outside. 

“I’m not coming!”

Gohan sighed on the other side, rolling his eyes. He felt responsible but Bulma would start kicking off if they ruined her carefully planned dinner. The demi-Saiyan wasn’t sure who he was more scared of upsetting. He quickly decided it was Bulma as she came storming down the hallway with a pretend smile on her face.

“Gohan dear, what’s the hold up?”

She ushered Trunks to join their guests and he tutted before stomping down the hallway. The smell of freshly cooked meat made Gohan’s stomach grumble loudly. 

Gohan sighed and put his hands on his hips. He gestured to Piccolo’s door with an exasperated expression. He felt bad, technically, he was the reason Piccolo wanted zero contact and to hide in his room. Not that he would ever say the words ‘hide’ and ‘Piccolo’ in the same sentence out loud. Bulma knocked on the door hard, voice stern.

“Piccolo, it’s time for dinner”

Gohan pursed his lips and crossed his arms. Bulma felt her face heat up in rage and she opened the door before the demi-saiyan could stop her.

“Piccolo. It’s dinner time, come on”

Piccolo stood up, fists clenched at the intrusion. 

“Get out”

She stood her ground, flicking curled blue hair out of her darkened features.

“Look, whatever the problem is, can you just get over it - we have guests. We are going to have dinner and we are going to enjoy it like a NORMAL FAMILY!”

Gohan’s eyes widened as Bulma’s fast words became a piercing shout. He glanced down the hallway to see if anyone had heard. Piccolo was taken aback, and as much as the intimacy with Gohan had sent him reeling, Bulma’s words struck him right in his lonely, cold heart. He growled and hissed.

“Fine!”

He walked towards them, intending to go through both of them if necessary but was stopped by a sharp and painted fingernail.

“Not like that”

Piccolo’s eyes narrowed and his words came out bitter and stunted. 

“Like what?”

She smiled then and pointed to his gi.

“That’s perfect for fighting Piccolo but this is a dinner party”

Piccolo was quickly becoming frustrated and swore in a very fed up, human way.

“For fuck’s sake”

Gohan raised a thick brow at the other man and a secret part of him wanted that behaviour to be because of him. He wanted to be under Piccolo’s skin. Under it, on top of it, all over it. His cheeks became flushed as his thoughts wandered.

Bulma pointed to Gohan.

“Something like that”

Piccolo looked at the demi-Saiyan, who’s gaze he’d been pointedly avoiding, and clicked his fingers. Bulma grinned at the ensemble, a simple navy blue suit, that looked well tailored and a white shirt. She looped her arm with Piccolo’s, which made him roll his eyes and feel ridiculous, and marched them both to dinner. Gohan smiled, playing with the fantasies in his head. 

Atsuto did blink but kept his reaction tame, as Bulma had explained Piccolo looked very alien, but his daughter gasped audibly. She smacked a delicate hand to her mouth, brown eyes wide in apology. Piccolo spared her an unreadable glance but didn’t pay it much mind; most humans reacted that way. Bulma took her seat and gestured for Piccolo to sit down next to Gohan. In a way, he was relieved, if he was sitting next to Gohan it would be easier to avoid looking at him. Instead he was seated opposite the family’s eldest son, who introduced himself to Piccolo as Kenji, half stood with his hand outstretched across the dinner table. Piccolo looked at it for a moment before just accepting his fate. 

The young man’s hand felt large and rough, but warm like Gohan’s. He could easily crush it but didn’t and a part of him thought someone should acknowledge that. Bulma was talking away to the older man, Atsuto, whilst Trunks and the younger boy traded what seemed to Piccolo like worthless secrets about video games. He hadn’t realised the food wouldn’t be served straight away and everyone would be free to speak with their mouths instead. Piccolo sighed, he wanted to cross his arms but couldn’t in the small space he had been allotted, and of course the human across from him intended to speak at him.

“This is the first time we’ve sat down to dinner with other people in...years I think”

His smooth voice rolled across the table and he was laughing at himself or out of nervousness. Piccolo noticed immediately that he was charismatic, such a comment would usually not interest him at all, but he felt compelled to answer. Maybe Gohan had destroyed his brain.

“I can imagine”

The young man picked up his beer, and Piccolo felt a strange impulse to copy him and have a drink as well. He resisted.

“Looks like you have a nice place here, your family is nice too”

Piccolo blurted out his reply and regretted it. 

“We’re not related”

Kenji laughed, his hazel eyes squinting in poorly hidden enjoyment.

“Yeah...I er...figured that”

The Namek tried not to frown too visibly, so as not to draw attention to himself but also because he honestly wanted to give Bulma this one night. If it was only one night. It had already dawned on him that this may be a repeating event. Gohan chatted away to the young woman opposite and her pleasant features kept shifting around in adulation. Piccolo found it distracting, and annoying. Gohan’s charm poured off him in rivulets and she kept damn well drinking it.

Piccolo remained fairly quiet and observant through dinner as Bulma served a roasted bird with vegetables and rice and an assortment of foods he didn’t recognise. It was an impressive display given the empty cupboards. He did try a little, it was pleasant and he tried to ignore Kenji’s inquisitive glance at his lack of appetite. Gohan noticed it too and for some reason felt the need to explain.

“Namekians don’t eat, really”

Kenji seemed to contemplate this before repeating the unfamiliar word.

“Namekian”

He elongated the word and it made Piccolo feel uncomfortable. Trunks then started asking Kira questions and she humored him. 

After dinner, they all stood and Piccolo actually somehow thought he could leave at this point but was stopped by an impatient Bulma. 

“Ah, we’re having a few drinks now”

By that, she meant that they would share sparingly the one bottle of wine she had saved, between the adults. Piccolo declined with a palm in her face.

“I’ll stay but...no thank you”

“Alright”

Bulma continued to talk mostly to Atsuto, who seemed to love the attention. Gohan could see why, Bulma was an intelligent, interesting and beautiful woman. He overheard something about Atsuto having been an artist, and he realised he wasn’t listening to young Kira.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Oh...nothing really. I was just wondering what you did, you know, before?”

“Well I did manage to become a teacher, sort of, but...it sort of came to an end”

She smiled sadly. He supposed she was a little too young to remember when all this began. He caught her awkward expression and smiled, genuinely. 

“What do you want to be?”

Her laugh was high and sweet; she reminded him so much of a young Videl.

“Well...ideally, I’d like to be a mechanic like my brother”

Said older brother interrupted, obviously listening.

“Engineer”

“Right! Yes”

She giggled, used to being corrected in this way. Gohan wondered if it was a family joke and spared a brief moment to remember laughing at home with his own family. He noticed Piccolo standing and leaning against the wall next to Kenji, who he was half paying attention to, but he seemed distracted. Gohan watched Kenji notice it too and a part of him hated him for noticing so much. The engineer spoke up.

“Are you alright?”

Piccolo looked surprised at the question but answered.

“Yes” 

“You look like you’re uncomfortable”

Piccolo frowned at him.  _ Your questions make me uncomfortable. _

“I have sensitive hearing”

As if Kenji hadn’t noticed the Namekian’s prominent ears he peered at them closely. Gohan felt like swatting at the younger man, but didn’t have a chance to before Kenji replied.

“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter?”

Gohan could feel his face heat up, his chest tighten and the urge to put that crazy suggestion to bed all at once. He watched as Piccolo regarded Kenji before nodding. Gohan logically knew he had no reason to assume anything, or had any right to feel anything about it, but it didn’t help. Just because he liked Piccolo so much, it didn’t mean everyone did. His mind’s voice kept trying to cajole but he must have become visibly annoyed since young Kira asked if he was okay. He tried so hard to pay attention to her but his heated eyes still followed Piccolo and Kenji as they left. 

“I’m...fine”

Bulma saw them leave too, and her lightly coloured lips pursed in a knowing expression, amused at Gohan, as he practically set on fire with jealousy. 

\-----

Eighteen had been bored many times, for long lengths of time, but never had she been quite as bored as when she started following the Namek. For hours, she had watched him. Days passed by, and she waited. Spending every day in eternal boredom until today and she cursed in relief at an opportunity. He was seated, of course, meditating in the apartment next door. At first she had scoffed, silently; all he seemed to do was sit around, she kept wondering why he wasn’t fat. He brooded and meditated endlessly. She hovered at the window, just out of his view, keeping still and feeling grateful that the thick Victorian walls would give her the soundproofing she now needed. She had been so damn close.

Then that other one came in, some annoying relation of Son Goku’s who followed the Namek around like an unwanted shadow. She crossed her arms, brow creasing ever so slightly at yet another opportunity missed. If she approached the Namek now, that other one would kick off and protect him. They conversed, some useless chit chat and she could see the Namekian grow upset because of it. A fine, blonde eyebrow perked in mild interest. She hadn’t seen him emote at all, really, one might say she had even become somewhat fond of his predictable calm.

Then suddenly, the Saiyan had climbed on top of him, pushed him down and she blinked. She had not anticipated this development, and stared in curiosity as they started kissing, passionately at first. She sighed quietly, if she knew humans, and she did, they could be here for a long time. She disappeared.

Eighteen returned later that evening, and saw the Namek sat, yet again, in what she presumed to be his room. Brooding darkly. She idly wondered if the sex hadn’t been very good. The Saiyan was inside the apartment again, with the small one and the woman, it seemed Piccolo was very rarely on his own for very long. The android wasn’t sure how much time she had to pursue this, but didn’t want to cause an unwanted fuss. She looked over the trees in the distance, and could see, some miles away, the other Eighteen and Seventeen flying West. She rolled her eyes and returned her piercing blue gaze to the Namek. She would have to get to them first.

Eighteen cracked her knuckles without thinking and quickly darted away from the window, blonde her whipping her own face as she did. If Piccolo looked up, he didn’t see anything.

  
  


**W.**


	6. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity - I use Saiyan and demi-Saiyan interchangeably for Gohan and Trunks.

Piccolo let the human into his room, not knowing where else to take him. He considered the apartment next door but a part of him wanted to keep that for himself, his own little miserable, broken sanctuary, albeit one that Gohan had inevitably found out about. Kenji peered around the room with curious eyes, not knowing where the previous owner ended and Piccolo began. The Namek felt immediately awkward, regretting the decision to bring the talkative creature with him. He had effectively avoided, or escaped Gohan, but to his own detriment. Kenji leaned against the dresser, shifting his hips to appear more casual.

The tall, jade man intrigued him and in the back of his mind, he knew that he was doing a piss poor job of hiding his interest. Luckily, the social graces of the other man seemed to be lacking, and he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He brushed a heavy hand through his dark hair, hoping it still looked decent enough in the lamp light of the large bedroom. It was evident that the stoic creature might not understand the implications of bringing him here, if his behaviour so far were any indication, and he sighed. It had been such a very long time since he was intimate with anyone. He had no intention of pouncing on the other man, not by any stretch, but he yearned for closeness. 

“So, how do you like your new place?”

Piccolo grunted, but then forced himself to form words for a response.

“It’s fine”

Kenji nodded, taking another swig from his beer.

“Ours too, not bad at all, all thanks to Bulma of course”

The Namek nodded, looking everywhere but at the young man in his room. Kenji continued, unperturbed, and walked forward whilst talking.

“You um…”

He reached the bed and in a bold move, sat down on the edge of it. Piccolo watched the other man bite his full lower lip and something inside him squirmed, his face heating up as Kenji finished his question.

“Wanna join me?”

Piccolo just leaned against the window sill with his arms crossed.

“I’m fine here”

The young man nodded, laughing a little.

“I only meant to sit down”

Piccolo scrunched his nose at that.

“As opposed to what?”

Kenji smiled sweetly at his naivety and it lit up his face in a handsome glow. Piccolo swallowed, not liking this new train of thought his mind seemed to want to go down, and he blamed Gohan thoroughly for it. That stupid kiss caused this, this fumbling heat that he had no use for, that was now being triggered by anything and everything. He closed his eyes, wishing that the situation just come to its natural conclusion, and considered pushing for it. As it happened, he didn’t have to, as he heard footsteps come quietly down the hall and stop at the door. He recognised Gohan’s gait, as easily as he’d recognise his own face in the mirror.

The demi-Saiyan didn’t knock, instead just twisted the knob and walked in. He realised it was rude, was more than aware that Piccolo held his privacy on a pedestal, but he did it anyway. A morbid part of him expected to catch them in an embrace and when he saw the two men just talking, clearly up to nothing, he felt shame burn his cheeks. Piccolo glowered at Gohan’s intrusion but really, he was grateful for the interruption. 

“Bulma’s serving desert”

Gohan looked pointedly at Kenji, wanting the softly spoken pretty boy off Piccolo’s bed and hopefully, out of the room entirely. Out of the apartment, and judging by the lingering gaze the younger man left on his Namekian friend, out of their lives. Kenji stood politely and smiled at Piccolo, turning to leave.

“Great, I’ll see you in there”

Piccolo watched him go, having no intention to follow and eat whatever desert was. Gohan stepped aside, flashing a fake smile before closing the door to give them both privacy. The light from the hall fell away and once again the bedroom was cast in a low gentle light.

“Sorry...for barging in like that”

Piccolo grunted, pushing off the window sill. He could guess that Gohan’s alcohol fuelled jealousy was likely to blame, though he wasn’t sure if it was over him or their visitor. It had occurred to him that the demi-Saiyan may just prefer the company of men, and now that Kenji was here, he would pursue him instead. The thought made his chest squeeze in an ugly, painful wrench. Gohan took off his jacket, feeling more than comfortable to invade Piccolo’s space further, and went to lie on the bed. Piccolo rolled his eyes. Everyone took a bee line for the bed, even Trunks, it was irritating. 

Truth be told, Gohan’s instincts wanted to get rid of whatever cologne their guest had left on the crisp white sheets. It filled his nostrils with its awful sweet stench and he scowled at the ceiling. He stole himself for a moment before speaking, needing to clear the air.

“About earlier-”

Piccolo bit his tongue at the half formed question. He did not want to have this conversation

“If I, um, overstepped the mark I-”

The Namek cut his stumbling sentence off.

“You didn’t”

Badly concealed hope flooded the Saiyan’s chest and he sat up, bracing his hands on the comforter. Piccolo swallowed, knowing that he had opened a can of horrid, horrid worms and he’d have to elaborate, but he had no idea how. Gohan’s wide brown eyes made him itch as he continued to stand there and the silence started to stretch. He was no good with words.

He clenched his fists and his talons dug painfully into his palms. Taking in a deep breath, he walked over to Gohan quickly, before he could change his mind or think too hard. He leaned down and crashed his lips into Gohan’s, clumsy and dry, and rested his weight against the older man’s chest and shoulders. Piccolo felt Gohan smile into the kiss, and slowly, he pulled Piccolo forward out of his awkward position. Piccolo felt himself land on his right side on the bed as Gohan continued to return the kiss. The Namek’s heart thumped in his chest, making him short of breath. He pulled back for a moment, bewildered by his own passion, and this time Gohan captured his lips. Fervent movements became wet and languid as the demi-Saiyan slid his hand along the Namekian’s side, down to his waist and dropped to press against the small of his back. Piccolo, to his own horror, made a low breathy noise as he was firmly pressed against the Saiyan. Then made another startled noise as the other man unbuttoned his jacket and pulled the shirt tails out of his trousers, suddenly, Gohan’s hot hand was sliding against his cool skin. 

Piccolo lost track for a moment, desperately trying to keep control of his body’s movements but with little or no success. The kiss was more intense this time, and his own hand moved to curl into Gohan’s thick hair, pulling and scratching his scalp, eliciting a low groan from the other man. It made Piccolo growl, and his stomach churned and coiled as it heated up. The sheets made whispering noises as they shifted but Piccolo could barely hear it over the sound of rapid heartbeats and stolen breaths. He had started to use his teeth, without realising, and Gohan made a sharp noise of surprise as a fang bit into his lip. The Saiyan gripped Piccolo’s somewhat panicked face and took a moment to breathe, licking the blood and smiling. 

He took that moment to undo the Namek’s shirt completely and trailed a finger down his exposed chest, sternum and stomach. The vivid colours peeking out from the dress jacket made Gohan think of the fantasies he’d been having and he chuckled, rolling Piccolo gently onto his back. He straddled the man beneath him and removed his own shirt quickly before leaning down to steal another kiss. This time, Piccolo felt himself responding instinctively, like he ached for it, and his hands roamed the broad chest freely, scraping with claws and trying to pull him further down. The Saiyan’s hot tongue felt thick and strong and Piccolo felt driven into a frenzy by it, desperately trying to war with it. Gohan chuckled into the kiss and shifted, using his knee to spread Piccolo’s legs so that he could lie down between them. 

The dense weight fell against him, pressing heavily into that foreign ache that had started to burn and Piccolo tried to bite back his response. Tried so hard in fact but Gohan rolled his hips forward and captured the loud growl with his lips. The sensations were so intense but so welcome, and Piccolo’s chest thrummed with unfamiliar feeling, something like contentment or happiness. He couldn’t puzzle over it for long because Gohan’s hands were moving again and now they were unbuttoning his trousers, pushing them down his hips, and he was being kissed again. His own hands found the Saiyan’s button but instead of being careful, or considerate, he just ripped open the button and fly. Gohan had to push up as his own clothes were all but torn off by sharp clawed hands, leaving Piccolo with his own still slung low on his hips. The Namek laughed at the taken aback expression above him and the sound was honestly so delightful that Gohan laughed along with him, removing the trousers completely. His boxers did nothing for his erection, which strained painfully and obviously, but he kept them on. Of course he had noticed Piccolo wasn’t wearing any, his fly just opening up to lovely, smooth reddening skin. He spotted those dark obsidian eyes glancing at his aching groin with some curiosity and a little trepidation, and he moved to cup his green chin.

“Piccolo, before we go any further-”

“It’s fine”

Gohan blinked, not knowing entirely what that meant and Piccolo clarified, his deep voice ever more husky than before.

“I want to”

Gohan nodded, his desire building, he leaned down to cup the Namek’s face in his hands. He wanted to take a few seconds to commit his flushed face to memory, in case this would be his only chance. A rushing panic, realising that might actually be the case, made his eyes water a little and he blurted out his thoughts.

“Piccolo I...this, um”

Piccolo waited patiently, sensing the other man’s unease, but the words didn’t come. Gohan only stared, wide eyed. He was so used to being the leader, so very used to pushing his feelings down and silencing his desperate heart. Gohan didn’t know how to put his fear into language, so the Namek shifted, his dark gaze fixed into the mahogany orbs inches from his own. Gohan’s body felt hot above him, hard and tense. He moved his body up and gripped the demi-Saiyan’s hips with his talons. He made sure Gohan’s eyes didn’t leave his own and in one long, intense moment, Piccolo felt Gohan’s length enter him. He watched as Gohan’s eyes fluttered and the older man moaned loud and low. Piccolo arched his back at the intrusion, gasping when Gohan’s hands moved to hold his waist as he tried to move further inside. He started grinding into Piccolo’s hips roughly, unable to stay gentle in his surprise. 

The discomfort quickly dissipated and the Namek threw his head back into the white sheets as Gohan started thrusting slowly. It was torturous, wonderful and totally disarming. The fullness was strange but he knew from this moment on he would ache for it, even as his own erection strained and rubbed against the Saiyan’s abdomen. Gohan gritted his teeth against the pleasure, hissing as he rolled his hips. He had pictured this moment, over and over, but there was no imaginary descriptor for Piccolo’s snug, wet heat. Certainly none that his hand could have mimicked, and he suddenly felt incredibly possessive of it. He regretted now not insisting on some sort of agreement whereby Piccolo would be his, and his alone. 

He growled low and shifted to a deeper angle, driving down deeper and for longer. Piccolo started whispering and moaning, losing his battle to pretend otherwise. Gohan listened, wanting to commit every word and sound to memory.

“Go-Gohan...ah”

The demi-Saiyan nibbled at Piccolo’s collar bone as he muttered, waiting for more beautiful words to spill from his lips. 

“Yes….hm, deeper - ah”

He moved to press his erection painfully close, quickly picking up on Piccolo’s response. He wondered if it were personal preference, or Namekian, but his tall partner seemed particularly partial to a deep rocking motion. He moved slightly for as long as he could stand, pushing down the urge to pin Piccolo down and fuck him hard. All thoughts of the androids, of loneliness, of despair, were so far away at that moment that he couldn’t voice how he had ever cared. Ever wanted anything as lovely as this. He licked at Piccolo’s open mouth, teasing the fangs in his reach. The Namek’s eyes were closed but he felt the wandering tongue and lapped at it, wanting to bite into it. His muffled name sounded so sweet.

“Piccolo...”

The desire to bite then warped into a need, and he started to bite into Gohan’s flesh, down his neck and into his shoulder. The demi-Saiyan gasped at the pain, his fingers quivering in the sheets at either side of Piccolo’s shoulders. It forced him to start thrusting, unbidden and Piccolo smirked into one of his incisions. Gohan’s gasps and throaty grunts were delightful to his ears, and it made his body swell in response. The demi-Saiyan abruptly stopped, slowing to press and rock the way Piccolo had liked it and the Namek suddenly grew tense. His long legs squeezed and locked around Gohan’s lower back whilst his back arched. Soundless words tumbled from his violet lips and sharp talons dug, too hard, into Gohan’s back. The Saiyan continued rocking, wanting to draw out the orgasm, wanting to hear Piccolo’s deep bass in the throes of pleasure. 

“Gohan-...d-...don’t stop”

The last word came out at a higher pitch and Gohan slammed his length into Piccolo’s smooth, wet sheath. Its soft walls clenched around him and he felt the Namek’s release, inside and outside, and it was intoxicating. Piccolo whispered Gohan’s name one final time into his throat and that was all the encouragement he needed. He thrust into Piccolo with wild abandon, unable to contain his own orgasm as he growled and released his seed into his lover. Piccolo had loosened his vice like grip and Gohan collapsed against his broad chest as they both heaved in air. 

\-----

Bulma tapped a fingernail against her sorry, half full wine glass. Gohan and Piccolo had been gone a little while now and the urge to find out why was incredibly. They could just be talking, but something about the way Gohan tore off after the Namekian was so familiar to her. She just couldn’t put her finger on- 

_ Oh of course.  _

She closed her bright azure eyes in realisation. Vegeta. She smiled to herself at the fond memory of what must be typical Saiyan behaviour. Bulma found herself thinking of the surly little man often, her little Trunks looking more and more like his father as he matured. Atsuto told her a charming joke and she laughed, trying to pay attention to him. He was attractive, smart and doted on her. She just wished she didn’t miss her boy’s father quite so much. 

Idly, she wondered if she might have another child, she had always wanted two. Though perhaps inheriting Atsuto’s little family would be more than enough. Besides, she had enough work to keep her busy well past her prime and with any luck, into the afterlife. Her progress with the time travelling dilemma had been slow, deliberately so, if she were honest. She loved Gohan like a second son, and begrudgingly, Piccolo was leaking into that category. So young and bad tempered, but with that same soft underbelly she had known in their own big green giant. Fond memories whipped through her mind’s eye. There was a time when her role was an important one, inventing tech and solving riddles. She still did all that but without an audience it felt a little hollow, and without much success, hollower still.

Her time machine would work, Bulma was certain of it, but it would be a while yet before it was complete. In a way, Piccolo’s arrival had prompted her idea of going back to change this horrid future, if only it were so simple. In her heart she knew she’d have to send the Namek back to his own time, but she so desperately wanted to send Trunks and Gohan. The older Saiyan had likely not realised that Piccolo would have to return to his own time at some point, clearly, as he had fallen head over heels with zero caution. The scientist suspected that the Namek knew this too, and had seen the knowledge cast its dark cloud over him more than once already. Everytime Gohan looked at him with adoration, with lust, or even with simple friendship. 

_ God, what a mess. _

Her final thought on the matter was that she hoped they would make the most of the time they had, nothing was guaranteed. Certainly not here. Her gaze fell back onto the other man as he spoke and she absently tried to remember where she’d put those condoms.

\-----

The Namek willed his flushed face to calm so he could regain some composure, unsure of that to expect. Gohan knew that his companion would be troubled and lifted a hand to cup his strong jaw, drawing him in for a long and gentle kiss. He motioned for Piccolo to lift up and he pulled the sheets out from underneath them and pulled them over their tired and damp bodies. Gohan snuggled up to his lover, all the while stroking his face and murmuring loving words that didn’t make any sense. He didn’t want Piccolo to bolt so he held him there, stringing his unrelated babbling into a sentence, one that the Namek would surely understand.

“I love you, do you know that?”

Piccolo swallowed as Gohan continued, his long ears picking up the quiver in his voice.

“I mean, I’ve always-...Piccolo, I’m  _ in _ love with you”

There was a pleading note in the older man’s eyes, and the Namek struggled to ignore it. He opened his mouth to respond but only managed to draw in a nervous breath. This was dangerous territory, at any moment he could be whipped back into his own reality or he could die at the hands of the androids. The last thing Piccolo wanted was to break Gohan’s heart, and despite this futuristic, tough persona, his heart was made of glass. It was difficult to believe that this handsome Saiyan would be so enamoured with him, of all people. His mind tiptoed around the very real possibility that this was a short lived infatuation, and that if things were different, Gohan would be in another’s bed come the weekend. Then there was the very real, young child back in his own world. He still couldn’t reconcile the differences between the two - the boy that he adored and protected, and this man that had his heart on fire with love and desire. He wouldn’t waste his own time denying his feelings, they were as good as carved into his skull, but Gohan didn’t have to know. He could save him from the nightmare that was Piccolo. He deserved much, much better. 

“I’m sorry”

His deep voice came out firm, certain, and he felt a morbid satisfaction at the very real, intended impact on Gohan’s face. His own chest lit up with unbearable pain that began to rise in his throat, like he might actually vomit up the lie he had so convincingly told. His body still tingled from their coupling, as if reminding the Namek what he was sacrificing. Gohan’s reply was bitter, and he tightened his embrace.

“But,  _ you _ kissed me”

Piccolo closed his eyes at the shame he felt but he said nothing. Gohan would feel used, tricked and that’s exactly how it would have to be. Piccolo was the Demon King, after all. His own jade fingers gripped the demi-Saiyan of their own accord, inside there was a cascade, like he was going to short circuit. His eyes burned underneath the lids but Gohan wouldn’t notice. Didn’t even glance back as he crawled out of bed, put his trousers on in silence and once the door was closed, the room was back once again in darkness. Didn’t hear anything as he walked down the hall, just as Piccolo screamed silently into his own fist, biting into his own flesh. The contradiction hurt.

Piccolo had fought a hundred times, had died before, but hadn’t ever felt pain like it. 

  
  


**W.**


End file.
